Poison and Wine
by wildirish
Summary: Revolution Season 3, Charloe-centric, but will feature other characters. Bass and Charlie set out to find his missing son, and wind up getting swept up in the complicated war against the Patriots. Both had dismissed the possibility of anything ever happening between them, but sometimes the worst poison becomes the sweetest wine.
1. Chapter 1

_**Poison and Wine**_

**_Chapter One_ **

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing about Revolution. I don't own David Lyons either. Basically my life is sad so don't sue, please. No copyright infringement intended, blah blah blah, you know the rest.

******Author's Note: **This is my first fanfiction in ages. I have become obsessed with Charloe and was upset when NBC canceled Revolution. This is my own imaginings of how a possible season 3 would unfold. Note that Rambo would not be a fan of my storyline (not that I'm a fan of his proposed one either) so if that is what you are looking for, please look elsewhere because there is #NoBachel in this story or frankly my universe.******  
**

**Texas Ranger Camp, Austin, Texas**

Charlie felt the scorching Texas heat even through her tent. The tent provided shade from the unforgiving sun, but it just ended up heating up like an oven inside with little breeze to offer a reprieve. Didn't matter anyway, she figured. She was not going to be in the camp for much longer. That's why she found herself packing up her few possessions in her bag. In the few days since Texas had declared war on the Patriots, Charlie had thankfully been able to find clean clothes, wash her old ones and most importantly bathe herself. She'd replenished any supplies she'd need for medical emergencies, food, ammo (both bullets and arrows), and sharpened her knives.

Her uncle stepped into the tent. Word had gotten to him that Charlie had asked for two horses to be prepared for travel. "What's going on, Charlie?"

"I'm going with Monroe," she explained.

"I'm sorry, what?" Miles said in that voice he used when he thought she was being ridiculous. He tended to use it often.

"You heard me," Charlie said.

"Why?"

"You know him. He's going back to try and find his son," Charlie said. "I'm going to help him. We owe him because he came through for us with the President. We will still need him in this fight. If I go I can keep an eye on him and make sure he and Connor don't run off and start their dictatorship run early."

"What makes you think you could stop him? That he won't hurt you?" Miles questioned.

Charlie sighed. She thought about the tower. Pottsboro. The woods. The school. New Vegas. Beside the train. No. She didn't really believe that Monroe would hurt her. She didn't know how to explain that because he was still the man that had her held at gunpoint by Strausser in Philadelphia. Except that, in some ways, she doubted very much that this was the same guy.

"Bass won't hurt me."

"Bass?" Miles repeated incredulously. "When the hell did that start?"

Charlie shrugged. "Is it a big deal? It is his name isn't it?"

"I've just never heard you use it before," Miles admitted.

"I figure that he deserves something for going with us into Willoughby in the face of mustard gas. And that he didn't screw us over with your plan for Davis and Blanchard. I mean, we have to acknowledge at some point he's trying to be a better person."

"Charlie, I got to tell you that this whole conversation feels like a great big mind fuck."

Before she could reply voices rose up outside the tent as people—Rangers—moved by. She waited until they'd passed before speaking. It gave her time to organize her thoughts.

"I forgave you, didn't I?" Charlie murmured. She pierced him with her blue eyes. They always made Miles want to shuffle his feet when she gave him that stare. It teleported him right back to that hotel in Chicago when she pleaded with him to help her save Danny. He'd sent her packing and had proceeded to feel like crap afterwards. "You did horrible things too. So did my mom. Why is he unworthy of any forgiveness?"

"He killed your brother and _my_ brother," Miles reminded.

"How many brothers have you killed? Or for that matter, how many have I?" Charlie countered. "And Monroe wasn't there when my dad died. That was Neville's incompetence. And Danny—he made himself a soldier when he chose to be in that fight. That helicopter would have shot down anybody with that rocket launcher. It would have shot _me _down. We kill soldiers all the time. Danny signed up and he died. I begged him not to, but he didn't listen."

"Where the hell did all this perspective come from?"

"You know how they say that in life and death situations that your life flashes before your eyes?" Miles nodded. "Well, it's true. You gain a lot of perspective about things. You achieve clarity on things you didn't even know you were confused about before. This is the product of Neville pulling that trigger while the gun was pressed to my temple." Miles eyes hardened at her words. Neville would indeed pay for nearly killing his niece—twice. He would make sure of it. Even if he had to resurrect good ol' General Matheson to get it done.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, he was a dick. Sometimes he still is," she said with a laugh. "But he's also had my back more times than not in this last year. Especially when you've been so wrapped up in my mom."

"Charlie—"

She shook her head. "I meant what I said the other day about you two giving it a shot. But the truth is, Miles, we use to be partners and then Mom came back. She became your entire world. It happens. I'm honestly used to it. But you can't be mad at me for learning to be partners with Monroe when you kind of forced it. You can't give me a hard time about starting to respect him when Miles you still love him like a brother. And you punish both of you by trying to pretend it'll ever be different."

"He's not good for me, Charlie," Miles told her.

Charlie shook her head. She thought that was an easy excuse. "No. I think you were a coward, Miles. You left him when he got really dark. What kind of friend does that? Not only did you abandon him—a guy who apparently has serious abandonment issues—but you tried to kill him. If you guys were such good friends, why couldn't you talk to him? How could you let him get so out of control? Everyone blames him…but aren't you just as culpable for a lot of it? The fact is you guys are best when you are on the same team. This world is so screwed up Miles. Why deny yourself your last brother?"

"Where is this all coming from? You never talked to me like this before," Miles noted.

"Perspective," she said simply. "I have a lot of baggage to carry around. The dead are heavy. I can't add to it by hating somebody who has gone out of his way to look out for me even when I've tried to kill him. I don't want to do that to myself. The past is past. It can't come back, no matter what. We move on. Do you really want to live your life without your brother? Because let me tell you, it sucks. And I would give anything to have mine back. But I can't. You can. Unless you're an idiot."

Miles laughed. "When the hell did you get so goddamn smart?"

"I was always wiser than you," Charlie taunted.

"Pfft. As if," Miles said derisively. Charlie just gave her grin, the big one that flashed her prominent dimple. "Just be careful with him. He might be on the level now, but he could turn just as fast. Especially once he reconnects with Connor."

"I know. I'll be careful," Charlie promised. Or as careful as someone could be when they willingly went off on a journey with a former psychotic dictator. Oh well, she'd done it before and survived. "I better go before the asshole leaves camp and I have to track him down first."

"I'll miss you, kid," Miles said and pulled her in for a hug. She gave him a big hug in return.

"I'll be back once we find Junior Monroe," she said. "Tell Mom I love her, okay?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're not going to see her before you leave?" Miles said with a mild hysteria starting to form. How the hell would he break the news to Rachel that her daughter had left to travel with Bass? Dear God. He'd have to sedate her.

"No. So I could listen to her lecture me, then tell her to shut up it's not her choice and still leave?"

"So you want me to deal with it instead?" Miles said. He felt mildly betrayed by this after all he'd done for the little brat.

"Seems fair." Charlie said sardonically and then left a sputtering Miles behind in the tent. The moment gave her a little laugh. She missed sharing those moments with her uncle. It was like the old days where she would infuriate him and he would still follow through for her. Charlie figured that Miles could survive any temper tantrum Rachel may throw. She hoped. Maybe she'd say a prayer for him just in case.

Bass was checking the clip in his handgun for the last time before placing it back in its holster. He had missed the simple luxury of a holster. He used to have one that strapped around his leg that he missed. He didn't entirely trust placing the gun in his waistband. If you got into a fight, it could fall out. The holster kept his weapon secure and easily accessible. But he'd had to endure all kinds of inconveniences during the years after the blackout and before he'd been king of an empire. But the last year running around no better than the rebels that had defied his own Republic had reminded him of the simpler luxuries of life.

Christ, he actually had ice carried out onto battlefields so he could have his drinks with ice while discussing battle plans. He snickered at his own damn ego. No wonder his troops had been eager to follow after that mutinous bastard Tom Neville. Their own leader had turned into a pompous ninny. Bass realized he'd needed this time back in the trenches, down in the deep mud and blood to remember what soldiers went through. The fear that this battle would be the one to take him away from his family.

Of course, Miles had been his only family for years before he'd abandoned him. But then he'd found Connor. His son.

He thought back to the look on his son's face when he stepped out of the way and gave Neville the signal to assassinate him. Why did the people he loved the most always want to kill him and abandon him? The dark thoughts twisted their way through his mind. How the hell did he reconcile that both his brother and his son have wished him dead?

Was he really that much of an asshole?

He understood Rachel's desire to kill him. Even if he found that she irrationally focused on him when there were so many bigger issues for them to face. Even Charlie's disdain was understandable…

Except he wasn't entirely sure that Charlie hated him anymore. He doubted seriously she was the cheerleader to his fan club but it had been a while since she had given him her patented look of distaste and scorn. The look that said she was _just barely_ tolerating his offensive presence. Bass couldn't exactly figure out when that tide had begun to change.

After Pottsboro possibly, when he'd saved her from those murdering rapist? Even the memory set his blood to boil. He had stepped into that little shithole of a town and known immediately that only bad things would come. He'd shaken his head in annoyance at her naiveté. The girl had bravado he'd give her that. But sometimes it wasn't enough. He knew that when he heard the window shatter in the bar. Bass had marched over to the steps and through the broken glass saw the bastards circling her like wolves. She was putting up one hell of a fight and he'd actually paused long enough to admire her. She was a lot like Miles and he could see his brother's influence in her fight. But then the fight had gone out of her in an instant and the fury had propelled him to kick that door down in one swift kick.

Bass knew he was a lot of screwed up things but he'd never abided rape. The Republic had always taken a hard line to rapists. Bass had a reputation as a womanizer, one in which he knew he'd earned fair enough, but he'd never been with a woman against her will. And there was something about Charlie being targeted that had only made the rage stronger. Which was ridiculous because she'd been nothing but a pain in the ass since he'd woken up in that nasty pool by the sound of gunfire.

She'd actually dared to call him nothing but a drunk fighting for coin in a whorehouse.

God she really was a mini-fucking-Miles.

Damned if he didn't like and respect that about her.

He was nothing but an idiot. He should know better than that when dealing with Mathesons. They've never been any good for him. Why couldn't he just learn that lesson once and for all?

That thought came just as he saw her make the turn towards his tent. Her tent was in the next row. She was wearing those low jeans with that ridiculously alluring metal belt hanging down over her hips which were swaying with that confident swagger of hers. He knew intuitively she didn't walk that way to be provocative to the guys that watched. She walked like she could take care of herself because she could. But damn if it wasn't a gorgeous walk.

Do not go there, Monroe ordered himself. Those thoughts were not welcome and had been nothing but D.O.A. since New Vegas. The memory of Charlie in that field with Connor came unbidden to his mind. He clenched his jaw and cursed himself for a fool. He noticed that she was carrying her pack and that she also looked loaded for bear. She had her trusty crossbow slung over her shoulders, arrows too, and her knives at her side. If Bass were to guess, Charlie also had a gun tucked into her waistband. It didn't seem to bother her to carry it around without a holster. Charlie just knew how to roll with the flow. He'd seen the girl morph from one situation to the next right in front of him. It was marvelous to watch.

And he really needed to stop that. Unlike the last five hundred or so times he'd told himself that, this would be the absolute last time his mind veered into even more dangerous waters than the insanity he'd lived in during the last five years. Hell, this unholy attraction to Charlie was probably just another insanity.

"Where the hell you going, kid?" He liked using kid or girl when referencing Charlie. It was a helpful tool—like a pneumonic device or something—to remind him that she was Miles' niece. The way things were there was the likelihood that Charlie was probably Miles' daughter. Not that there was any way to prove it these days. Not that one was any better really because he knew that Miles' loved her like a daughter and that was enough. Bass knew better than most that blood (though Charlie was technically Miles' blood anyway) didn't always make one family.

They were on a rather bumpy road but Bass liked to think that he and Miles were on the way to repairing their broken brotherhood. God if Bass hadn't missed that like breathing. He liked to replay the words "Bass, I'm trusting you" in his head. There really was no way to put into words what that had meant. It had meant everything to Bass. He held onto that when he thought about how Connor had turned on him. He held onto it to remind himself that he'd made the right choice at that small shack.

"I don't know. You tell me," Charlie said enigmatically. She flashed him that smart ass grin and the glimpse of that sweet dimple in her right cheek always made his stomach knot. Sometimes he just fantasized about leaning down and pressing his lips to it. So close to her beautiful mouth that he could then just slide his lips across and finally taste her.

Goddamn it. He was no longer thinking those damn thoughts. He reminded himself. Again.

"Excuse me kid?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm going with you. You're going out there to find Connor, right?" Charlie asked.

It was eerie to Bass how well Charlie could deduce his intentions when they'd really only been in each other's lives this last year. But then he thought back to a New Vegas field and figured she missed her boy toy. That was enough to dry up any lingering, inappropriate thoughts he was holding about her. He had competed on occasion with Miles for women. Sometimes they even dated each other's exes. But he wouldn't compete with his son for one. She'd picked the Monroe of her choice.

Bass was just going to live with it.

Or die trying.

"What makes you think you're invited?" He taunted because the memory of that trip to New Vegas was stripping his nerves raw.

She gave that defiant little smirk. Bass was resolutely not thinking about biting her lip. "What makes you think you got a choice?" She threw his own words back at him. Charlie feared nothing; feared no repercussions any of her actions with him could have. The fact was that Charlie had never been afraid of him even when he'd been General Monroe ordering her shot.

"What's this about?" Bass asked.

Charlie shrugged. "You want to find your son. I'm the tracker, remember? You want to flounder around for a while without me until you find him or do you want to find him sooner?"

"You're not coming with me," Bass told her. He didn't think he could endure another trip alone with her, especially when she just wanted to help him so she could find her fuck buddy. Bass didn't think their relationship was any more than one of convenience. He didn't know if that made it worse or better that she slept with his son because he was there instead of having deeper feelings for him.

"I will just track you the whole way. But I'm going with you. Let's save time and just go," Charlie told him. "I had someone get us two horses ready. Let's go."

She marched away, confident that he would just follow her. He'd been the leader of a country. He didn't kowtow to the whimsy of a kid. But she was a good tracker, he knew that. The sooner he found his son the quicker the issues there could be resolved. The trip with Charlie didn't have to mean anything more than convenience. He winced at the word. It didn't mean anything more than that he knew. Bass followed in her footsteps.

After mounting their horses, Charlie started to lead her horse north. Bass called out to her. "This way."

"No. This way is faster to the train," she told him. She didn't know about the showdown at the shack. He had kept that particular bit of betrayal to himself. It was natural for Charlie to assume that the train was the last place he'd seen his son.

"That's not where we need to go," Bass told her cryptically and led his horse towards the northwest. Wordlessly Charlie followed, curious about this development but kept her questions to herself. It was obvious that Bass didn't want to talk about it so she didn't.

**A/N:** ******I would love if it you would leave a review or PM me with your thoughts. Thanks for reading. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

_**Poison and Wine **_

_**Chapter Two**_

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1.

They rode nearly all day, stopping briefly to rest the horses and eat. They passed the old church they had used to set up Patriot President Davis by midafternoon. Both knew with Patriots running around that they would have to find a place to camp before dark; it would be too dangerous to travel at nighttime. But Bass knew they were only a few hours from where he'd last seen Connor and pressed on past the church. Charlie didn't comment because she knew it wouldn't be welcome and he'd only ignore her anyway.

By late afternoon they had reached the old shack. "This is a good place to make camp for the night," Charlie noted.

Bass just grunted. She rolled her eyes. He hadn't exactly been chatty during their ride. "You cool down the horses. I'm going to go find us some game."

"Be careful out there," was the only thing Bass said to her.

By the time she returned with two rabbits, Bass had taken care of the horses and started a fire. He watched as she skinned and field dressed the rabbits. "I hate to do this here but it was getting too close to dark to take the time out in the woods," she said. She set up as far away from the camp site as possible without losing sight of it. He said nothing but continued to watch her. She was starting to get annoyed by the silent treatment. She understood he was upset about his son, but it wasn't her fault. If he'd asked her she could have told him that Connor was just a megalomaniac despot in training. _Huh. Guess we know where that apple landed_, she thought. "Are you going to just ignore me this entire trip?" she snapped.

He didn't reply and she returned to her task, using more force than was strictly necessary for the small game.

"You're really good at that," he commented after a moment. If he was being truthful, she was better at it than he was.

"Thanks," she muttered as she started pulling out the innards of the first rabbit.

"How did you get so good at it?"

She looked up at him incredulously but decided not to snap at him because at least he was talking. "I didn't want to starve or watch my family starve. I've been hunting since I was ten years old, Bass. I _should_ be good at this." Then she returned to her work.

"Ten?" The age seemed ridiculously young to him. Of course his own experience with ten year old girls had been his younger sisters Angela and Cynthia. Years later and the memory of them and their sudden deaths tore at him. His sisters at ten had been interested in Disney princesses and pretty girly things. They hadn't really been interested in getting dirty and he couldn't imagine them hunting, let alone skinning and dressing an animal.

"Yeah. It was after my mom left," Charlie said without looking up from her work. She had finished the first rabbit and had started on the second. "Do you have a preference for heart, liver or kidneys?"

"Not really," Bass admitted.

"Okay. I'll just leave it all for the birds then," Charlie said.

"Why was it up to you to hunt at ten?"

She looked up from her work. "My dad was a great guy. But he was…soft," she said quietly. "My mom made me promise to look after Danny. That was always my job, my whole life. That was the last thing she ever said to me before she left us on the side of the road: I needed to take care of Danny."

Bass felt the burn of shame. He had destroyed her family while he'd been in his dark pit of madness. God he was really a fool to ever believe she could ever even _entertain_ the _idea_ of returning any of these unwanted feelings he felt towards her, let alone actually return them. Yet here she was helping him find the last bit of family he had left. Bass wondered if he'd ever truly understand Charlotte Matheson.

"I'm sorry. I know it's meaningless and stupid and will never actually accomplish anything. But I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she said—completely surprising him. He recalled the first time he had tried to show remorse while sitting around a campfire with her. She'd called him a psychopath. No, he doubted he'd ever understand her.

"Ben didn't hunt?" He asked. He liked hearing her tell him about her life. Even if it did remind him how much he'd played a part in destroying it.

"He did some, but he wasn't very good at it," Charlie admitted with a shrug. "I couldn't stand watching Danny go hungry so I learned. We traded things and got a small bow and arrow set. I started practicing with that. A traditional bow requires more accuracy than a crossbow. Once I became proficient with the bow, we were actually able to find me a crossbow. The crossbow is more lethal because it has a more accurate shot. It's also slower than the bow because it takes time to reload. I knew that I needed to take care of Danny so I needed to be able to hunt for him but also to protect him. I used both for years to keep up with it. Using both actually helped me when I started using guns," she admitted.

"You do have remarkable aim for someone so new to guns," Bass remarked.

Charlie shrugged. It wasn't a big deal. It was a skill she'd needed to survive, first simply in the day-to-day and then in the midst of war. "We met up with other people while we were moving around. I asked a lot of questions because I needed to know things. I'd learned that my parents weren't reliable—especially when my mom never returned in the time she said she would. Something could happen to my dad and it would just be me and Danny. So I needed to know things. I learned from a hunter how to skin and field dress an animal. What to do to keep from ruining the meat or eating bad meat."

"I'm surprised Ben let all that weigh on you," Bass said. "That's a lot to leave to a ten year old girl."

"Dad seemed distracted. I didn't know at the time—I thought it was about Mom. That he missed her. But knowing what I know now—I wonder…I wonder if he just felt guilty because he'd played a part in how the world ended," Charlie admitted. "Damn it."

"What's wrong?"

"This second rabbit is no good," she said with disgust.

"What's wrong with it?" Bass asked.

"The liver is all spotted. That's a bad sign. But the first rabbit is good. We'll have to share. I don't want to take the time to go hunting for another one this close to dark," Charlie said.

"What else did you learn?" Bass asked as she started preparing a spit for the fire.

"How to find safe things to eat in the wild. I learned how to garden and harvest and store crops. My stepmom was an actual doctor. God, I gave her such a hard time because I was pissed she was there and not my mom," Charlie admitted and laughed wryly at herself.

"What's funny?"

"I never gave Maggie credit but she was more of a mom to me than my own ever was or likely ever will be. Just goes to show to appreciate what you have because in this life you never know when it'll be gone," Charlie answered. "Anyway, she forced me to learn all these different things about sickness and tending wounds. All kinds of medical stuff. She's saved my life a lot in the two years since she died just because of all the stuff she forced me to learn when I didn't want to."

"How did she die?" Bass was prepared for her to lay the blame at his feet.

"She was murdered by a crazy, psychopath," Charlie answered. Bass figured he'd been right, but then she surprised him. "He had these violent dogs that he would let loose on people. He kidnapped me and nearly killed me but Miles and Jason saved me." Bass noted how her voice still caught at the name of the Neville boy. "Well, I guess I saved myself because I managed to get myself loose enough to move before the arrow hit my head. People seem to have this thing about aiming guns and arrows at my head."

Crazy dog owner guy. The guy in the tunnel. Strausser. Neville.

"When the hell was this?" Bass demanded.

"Here will you take this out and lose it in the woods?" She held out the body of the bad rabbit as well as the hide of the first one that was holding the innards and organs. He nodded and walked away. When he returned she was already roasting the rabbit over the low-burning fire and had cleaned herself off with water from the well.

"You never answered me. Where the hell was this crazy guy with the dogs?"

Charlie shrugged as she rotated the rabbit. Roasted rabbit could be really disgusting if not done right. Charred on the outside and raw on the inside if the flame got too high. She'd learned that the hard way. Best was to boil it but she didn't want to take the time to use the hide as a bowl or boil water with hot stones. Besides, she'd already used the skin as a means to dispose of the insides. Charlie kept the meat away from the fire as much as possible. "Somewhere between Chicago and Philadelphia. Lowell, Indiana I think. Thereabouts."

"What happened to the guy?" Bass had irrational thoughts of marching north to find the guy and slitting his throat. Which was ridiculous because he needed to focus on finding his son, not avenging Charlotte, who clearly didn't need him to do that anyway.

"Miles killed him," Charlie said.

"Good."

Conversation dried up after that. Charlie finished the meat and broke off chunks of bread and cheese to supplement their dinner. She'd been hoping to save those for another time but with only one good rabbit they needed to share.

"So are you ever going to tell me why we came this way when the train is miles from here?" she asked as they ate.

Bass said nothing for a time. "This is where I last saw Connor. This is where we need to track him from. Not the train."

Charlie looked around, foolishly like she would suddenly see Connor appear through the tree line. "That's good to know. I'll look in the morning for tracks."

"I'll take first watch," Bass said. Charlie lay down on her bedroll and said nothing more.

* * *

In the morning, after they had eaten, Charlie started looking around the shack. She found the backdoor had been forced shut with a plank and a boulder. There were grooves in the door where someone must have clearly pushed on it, digging the plank into the door. She marched around to the well side and saw several footsteps pressed in the grass. It could be Connor or anyone else who'd passed by and used the well to replenish water canteens.

As she looked she started to see signs of a firefight.

"Bass, what exactly happened here?" Charlie demanded.

"Forget it, Charlie. Just find his trail," Bass said.

"No. Not until you tell me what happened here," Charlie refused. She was starting to get a picture of it in her head. The bullet holes in the building walls, the casings on the ground, the tree markings, and a second plank—this one broken—by the second door were all painting a vivid picture in her head.

"Connor found me with Davis. He wanted me to kill the President so that California and Texas would go to war," Bass explained. "Leaving the country easier for us to take over into a new Republic. But I said no."

Charlie gasped. She knew that his showing up at the church had been a big deal, a show of faith, but she'd had no idea how much the decision had cost him. Something moved in her she hadn't expected. She thought she had burned any of these feelings for Monroe in a New Vegas field. Had she just been deluding herself?

"I bet Connor hated that."

"He said I'd betrayed him. Then he stepped out of the way so Neville and Scanlon could kill me. I killed Scanlon and then lured Neville and Connor inside and locked them in. Then I hauled ass for the church."

"But why would you do it?" Charlie whispered in awe. "I mean, that's what you want isn't it? You want to reclaim the Republic."

Bass didn't know what to say. The look in Charlie's eyes caused a lump to form in his throat. He had told Connor that they would get the Republic back. He'd said it _for_ Connor. Before Mexico, he hadn't thought much about being President or General. The showdown with Miles at the tower had been illuminating for him. It was like suddenly the dark clouds had started to part and he'd been able to see his actions from the outside. He hadn't cared for what the light had shown him. It'd only been made worse when news came that Philly had been nuked. The city he and Miles had chosen—the city of brotherly love—had been destroyed. Along with all the people they had both set out to help. It had broken him; he no longer wanted to be Sebastian Monroe. He'd burned off his tattoo for that as much as self-preservation. He'd stripped the uniform with his identity and it had been easy to become Jimmy King.

Jimmy was a drunken womanizer. The physical beatings had felt like atonement for all the sins he'd committed. He had waited for the one fight he couldn't win, but it hadn't come. When the bounty hunters had kidnapped him, he'd been bored by it. But when he saw Charlie Matheson being dragged into that pool and tied up with him, he'd felt the old stirrings begin. Sebastian Monroe had been resurrected. Not the General or the President or the once-upon-a-time Marine Sergeant. But rather some amalgamation of them all. It had been a heady experience learning to balance them. His time with Charlie to and around Willoughby had been a guiding compass. He should've known the influence she'd be when he hadn't killed that bounty hunter because she said not to.

When he had told Miles he wanted revenge for Philadelphia, he'd meant it. But then he had found his son. Connor hadn't been what he'd expected; nevertheless he was his. The promise for the Republic had been hasty but the more he had thought about it, the idea seemed better. Bass believed his son would be better than him. Connor would make the Republic what it had always been meant to be. Then everything that came before would mean something. But then Connor hadn't followed him to save Willoughby and then he'd stepped aside for Neville. Where had Bass misstep between Mexico and today?

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Charlie repeated when Bass said nothing.

"I want my son," Bass said simply.

Charlie could see the heartbreak on Bass' face. Sometimes he had a stone cold poker face; but other times all his emotions just pooled there in his blue eyes. This was one of those times. The vulnerability pressed uncomfortably onto her own chest, like his sadness was squeezing her heart. She stepped toward him and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Bass."

Bass looked away, unable to bear the sympathy on Charlie's face. But he did reach out with his other hand and gently squeezed the hand still on his arm. They stayed that way briefly until Charlie's words broke the tableau. "He's an asshat."

"Is that anyway to talk about your boyfriend?" Bass sniped as he pulled away from her.

"He's not my boyfriend," Charlie corrected.

"Oh, sorry. Your _fun buddy_," Bass said crassly.

"You are such a dickhead sometimes, Monroe," Charlie snapped back.

"Isn't that why you came along? So you wouldn't have to be without him for too long?" Bass said. He didn't really know why he was antagonizing Charlie this way. Except that the simple moment of compassion had left him feeling raw. Whenever Bass felt vulnerable he tended to lash out. She had seen something in him he hadn't wanted to share; now he needed to block her from further discovery.

"You're an idiot," Charlie said.

"Well if you aren't here to because you want to find Connor, why the hell are you?" Bass demanded.

Charlie glared at him. "If you have to ask, you are dumber than I ever gave you credit for." Then she marched away to go looking for a trail, leaving Bass gaping at her.

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all the wonderful feedback I've received; plus all the favorites and follows. They've been wonderful additions to my inbox. I want to try to stay a few chapters ahead of my updates. I thought I would have chapter 4 done last night, but then realized that I had to combine 3 and 4 together. I just finished the rough draft of 4. I'm not sure when I will update again because I'm having surgery this week. (I think I will miss this week's Revolution Rewatch on Twitter. :( bummer. ) So please don't give up on me or the story if it's not updated as rapidly as other people's. I do have a rough plan, and a couple of major chapters written that come later in the story, it's just getting there. Sorry this was so long. Thanks again for reading and I'd love it if you left a comment or sent me a PM with your thoughts. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Poison and Wine **

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Revolution or David Lyons. But I really wouldn't mind if someone felt kindhearted enough to send Mr. Lyons to my home to play nursemaid for me during my convalescence. Anyone? No? Darn. Can't blame a girl for trying.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone for all the well wishes on my upcoming surgery. My fingers are crossed too! I've just finished the rough draft of chapter 6, so I wanted to give you guys another update. This chapter is a bit longer than the last two. I hope that makes up for it (possibly) being the last update in a while. More at bottom.

* * *

Both bad and good things came to them as they neared Abilene. First, they lost the trail. Second, Bass received a full pardon from the Texas government that came with a note that the fighting wasn't going as well as they had believed it would and to hurry their butts back to Austin. Third, they kissed for the first time. The event didn't leave either of them particularly happy.

"Goddamn it, Charlie," Bass snapped when she broke the news that she'd lost Connor's trail.

Things hadn't been exactly acrimonious between them since their argument outside the shack. In the week since, they've exchanged a handful of words that were all business. The tension was starting to fray Charlie's taut nerves and his outburst made them snap. "Well if you think you can do better, Monroe, by all means, be my guest."

"Maybe if we'd been following my lead, we'd already have found Connor," Bass argued.

She quirked her brow in a sign of _Are you for real?_ "Have you forgotten Brownwood, where you argued that Connor's trail had turned south and you were ready to haul ass to Mexico?"

Bass said nothing because he had no argument. He'd been suddenly convinced that Connor would return to Mexico and beg for Nunez's mercy and back into the cartel. Charlie had argued against it. Why would Connor have traveled so far north of Willoughby just to turn south now? As it was, Charlie was able to talk with someone who recognized Connor and found out that he and a man matching Neville's description had headed north with a small group.

Abilene had seemed like the next place that Connor would stop. Abilene had a market where Connor could replenish any supplies. But so far no one they spoke to had seen anyone resembling Connor or Neville's description. They had been asking around for a few hours and had come across nothing.

They had just booked the last two rooms in an inn when they were approached on the street. "Sebastian Monroe?" asked a young man in a Texas Ranger uniform. There was a platoon of Texas Rangers currently in Abilene. They'd been fighting Patriots in nearby Sweetwater. Immediately, Charlie was on the defensive. She realized that General Blanchard, who had returned to the leadership position after Carver had been murdered, owed Bass his life. But technically the state of Texas had convicted him as a war criminal and sentenced him to death.

Monroe for his part seemed bored by it. He was clearly preoccupied with finding Connor. "That's me. What do you want with me?"

"Lieutenant McGraw, sir. I've been asked to take you to Major Braddock over on the base," he informed.

Monroe sighed, resigned. He should have expected this—but frankly Texas doubling down on his execution hadn't really crossed his mind. Especially considering he'd gone out of his way to save the stupid place. He glanced over at Charlie, who looked poised to strike like a snake. "You better go back to the rooms."

"Like hell. I'm going with you," Charlie argued.

Bass turned to the messenger, "Let's get going."

There used to be an old Air Force base west of Abilene. Currently the Rangers were using it as headquarters for the platoon in the area. As they walked through the gate, an old faded sign indicated it was once called Dyess Air Force Base. "Were you ever here?" Charlie inquired.

Bass scoffed. "I was a _Marine_, Charlie." Even years later, the pride of being a Marine remained.

"Excuse me. How am I supposed to know the damn difference?" Charlie snapped back. She hated when he used pre-blackout things against her. She still didn't understand what the hell the village people meant, or what the hell earth, wind and fire meant, or what "blackout with your cack out" meant either. Though, knowing Monroe, it was probably vile and considering the topic at hand, she could probably figure it out but didn't want to.

The sigh he gave this time was long suffering. "There was the Air Force, the Army, the Navy, and the Marines. There was also the Coast Guard and the National Guard too. But the main branches were Air Force, Army, Navy and Marines."

"Semper Fi," Lt. McGraw said, turning around to look at them.

"Huh?" Charlie said just as Bass said, "How did you know that kid?"

"My grandfather and father were both Marines too," he explained. "Of course, they always said there was no such thing as a former Marine."

"Semper Fi?"

"It's a Marine thing," their escort said.

"It's short for Semper Fidelis. It means 'Always Faithful,'" Bass explained. "It was the motto for the Marine corp."

"That's nice," Charlie commented. "I like that. Too bad the militia didn't have something like that. Sure is better than the branding."

Monroe flinched because he knew all about the mark on Charlie's right wrist. He just didn't know how she had acquired it. If she had been conscripted, word that another Matheson was in the militia would have reached him. He was curious but also terrified to ask. It was just one more thing against her he was responsible for.

They were led into an atrium leading to Major Braddock's office. "Someone will let you into the office shortly," McGraw told them.

"Thank you Lieutenant." Monroe said.

"Good day to you both." McGraw gave a curt nod and left them.

Both were shepherded in quickly enough. Major Braddock was older than Bass and mostly gray. He wasn't as tall and much stockier. "General Monroe, ma'am," Major Braddock greeted them.

Monroe almost did a double-take at the title. It had been a while since anyone had referred to him that way. It was quite a shock for it to be delivered by a Texas Ranger Major. "Major Braddock. This is Charlie Matheson. What did you need to see me for?"

"I heard that you were spotted in Abilene."

"Obviously," Monroe said dryly.

"Rangers have been given orders by General Blanchard," Major Braddock spoke on.

"Let me guess…" Bass started to say. But what he heard next he never could have guessed.

"You've been given a full pardon by the Texas government as a thank you for stopping the assassination of General Blanchard as well as bringing to light the duplicity of the U.S. Government, also known as the Patriots. You are to be referred to by your rank—which is General to the Monroe Militia and President of the Monroe Republic." Major Braddock held out papers for Bass to take. "It's all down there in much more fanciful terms. Do you understand, General?"

Monroe nodded. "Thank you for the message."

"There's also a letter here for you from General Matheson," Major Braddock held out another paper.

"What?" Charlie blurted out.

Bass opened the letter and read in Miles' horrible chicken scratch penmanship.

_Bass,_

_By now you've learned that Texas has pardoned you. You're a lucky bastard. But I guess I am too because they pardoned me too. Apparently doing the right thing earns you gratitude. They've deputized me and now everyone keeps calling me General Matheson. It's annoying. Anyway, the fight against the Patriots isn't as easy as we thought it was going to be. Apparently they had more troops coming up from the south and more placed throughout the country. Also, they had more re-education centers than we could ever dream of. These super-soldiers are lethal. Blanchard has reports that the Patriots were using mustard gas up in the Plains and down in Mexico. _

_Frankly put, we aren't going to win this as fast as we thought. Especially with Governor Affleck keeping her head up her ass and not engaging the Patriots. She sent word to Blanchard she won't be involved with a Texas war. She'll get involved because Blanchard has it on authority that Patriots are moving towards California. She can't sit out forever. But she'll give up lots of ground by sitting around playing tiddlywinks in the meantime. _

_I'm hesitant to share this next bit with you, but I'm going to anyway. Blanchard has reports that there are parts of the Militia still intact up north. There is possibly a contingency of them in New England cut off from the rest of the Republic because of the fallout. Blanchard's spy reports are slower coming in from the Republic. Further reports indicate that the Patriots have taken over practically all of Georgia. The truth is if we want to destroy the Patriots entirely, we're going to need the Militia, Texas, and California. Hell, even the war tribes of the Plains (if there any left because they've spread throughout there as well). _

_The point is to hurry up and find your kid and get your asses back to Austin. We're gonna need you both in this fight. _

_Take care of Charlie. Don't let anything happen to her. Or yourself either._

_Miles _

_P.S.: Tell Charlie she owes me. _

Bass handed the letter off to Charlie to read. "What can you tell me Major?"

Major Braddock's face turned even more morose. "General, it's not going well. These Patriot assholes—begging your pardon ma'am—apparently had contingency plans in place. They are swarming us from the south and they are moving down through the Plains. It won't be long until they've reached our northern borders. Each Ranger Company has platoons trying to eradicate the Patriots within our borders. They have a lot of fire power and have twice used chemicals. They gassed Crystal City. There were no survivors. Company D lost over 500 Rangers."

"Goddamn," Bass said. His remorse was truthful. It was always hard to lose soldiers like that—whether when he was one or when he was the leader of them. He might have been good at killing, but Monroe hated war. It was sometimes necessary but he still hated it. It seemed he had unwittingly found himself in one again.

He understood what Miles' letter had left unsaid about the Militia. Whatever men remained would need to be rounded up. What Blanchard expected of both him and Miles was to get back north and take command again to start up another front on the Patriots. He wondered how Miles truly felt about that. He had not been the biggest proponent of rebuilding the Republic. But now that it was necessary to defeat the Patriots—would he feel differently? The reason was legitimate. It was what made them want to start it all to begin with: to help people. People needed protecting against the Patriots. Monroe understood this because he saw so many of his own failings in the things the Patriots have done.

These thoughts occupied him as they returned from the base. The legitimacy of the Patriot problem was warring with his desire to find Connor. He believed Connor would be the key to fixing the past. But here he had an opportunity to make amends and do things right himself. Yet would he? He'd never set out to become a monster. It was like something flipped in him—like his own light had blacked out when Shelly and the baby died. He didn't want to be that guy who would destroy cities and families on a selfish whim. Families like Charlie's.

He glanced over at her. He didn't want to be that because of her. He didn't know or understand all the things going on between them, all the things he thought and felt about her. But he did know she inspired him to choose better. He could've lied to Rachel in the tower once she gave him the gun. He could've left her and said to hell with Charlie. But he had kept thinking of the girl who placed herself at the end of Strausser's gun, prepared to die in the name of the greater good. She had been captivating. Then in the bar and taking care of her afterwards. Returning in the school. Beside the train. Something about her refused to let him be that person. But whatever it was would it strong enough to stop him when he stood at the helm of the Republic? Miles hadn't been.

He parted ways with Charlie because he needed some time and space to think. He warned her to be careful and watched her enter a bar close to their inn.

* * *

Charlie was finishing up her bowl of barley soup when the guy approached her. She had a fleeting moment's déjà vu. She had taken a chance by eating alone, but she wasn't sure when Bass would be back. Charlie understood he needed some time alone. There had been a lot in that letter for her to process. Would he want to carry on the search or return to Austin? Here he was being given permission by the Texas government to reclaim the Republic. She worried how much of Bass would be lost again if he took up the mantle once more.

Her sense of hunger had gotten the best of her. It was nice eating something else besides whatever they could manage to cook over open fire. She was hoping that no one would try to drug her this time. Abilene wasn't some nasty, backwaters dump. There was also the part of her that knew Bass would come looking for her eventually if she didn't return to the inn; he would look out for her. Despite her best efforts, that knowledge made her feel warm and protected. Not that she needed or wanted protection; but there it was.

The man who sat next to her was a blacksmith apprentice. His name was Jace Potter and he had red hair, jade green eyes and he was a flirt. When he had taken up the stool next to hers, Charlie had felt mild annoyance and had prepared to brush him off. But he had a charming smile. Even better was that he didn't have blonde curls and cerulean eyes, which had been dominating her thoughts of late.

Also, by entertaining his flirtation it dissuaded anyone else in the bar from approaching. So instead of shutting him down, she'd let him think he stood a chance. If she was a normal girl, he probably would have. He was sweet and smart. He didn't put on fake charm, or slick lines, he just talked with her. She should feel something towards him, but she didn't. She tried to convince herself it was too soon after what happened with Jason. That Jace sounded too close to an abbreviation of Jason's name. While she would always regret her and Jason's tragic end, that wasn't why she couldn't help but find his red hair and green eyes as anything more than appealing in a detached sort of way.

The truth, that maybe the whiskey she'd consumed was allowing to rise to the surface, was that she wasn't attracted to him not because he wasn't Jason but because he wasn't someone else. Someone with messy, curly blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a low gravelly voice that sent shivers down her spine.

Charlie would never understand why she had an attraction to Sebastian Monroe. How could she feel that for a guy she had vowed to kill because he'd destroyed her family? Those feelings had been burning deep in her months ago. She had agreed to Miles' request she follow along to New Vegas, but the entire time in the wagon she had been acutely aware of Monroe's proximity. Then nearly everyone they met in New Vegas had alluded to something going on between them. Which she would have brushed off as ridiculous if it weren't for the desire she had unwillingly been feeling. Desire that she wasn't entirely sure was one-sided. Sometimes in their silent, eye-only conversations, Charlie thought she saw something else burning in his eyes.

Like when he had returned for her in the school and she had said, "You came back." The stare he'd given her had been so intense it was like he was trying to say something that he would never be able to express in words. It had caused shivers to run the length of her body that had nothing to do with the imminent threat of death by the Patriots.

But then he had sent her out of the tent. He had totally brushed her off for Duncan, even though he had never denied the accusations that she and he were together. Not only had he disrespected her as someone involved in the plans to recruit more fighters, but he had disregarded all the weird, mixed signals between them. Charlie had no doubts as to what kind of negotiations Monroe had undertaken with Duncan. She'd heard the rumors about his womanizing ways.

What was worst of all for Charlie was that even knowing that, even knowing that he was _negotiating_ with Duncan, it still hadn't curbed the ridiculous attraction she felt towards him. So either she had been wrong about all the signals and silent messages between them or Monroe felt they didn't matter at all; either way, she had felt compelled to do something to make sure the unwanted feelings died.

What better way to keep Monroe out of reach than to sleep with his son?

It had felt all wrong even during the act. It hadn't been bad; but it was hard to be consumed with passion when all she kept thinking was that Connor wasn't the Monroe for her. Wasn't the Monroe to soothe the ache inside her, to tame the raging fire inside of her by matching it with his own. She hadn't actually counted on Bass finding them. She had thought his negotiations with Duncan would have taken all night.

The look on his face as he stared at her for the first time after catching her with Connor had wretched her heart. He had looked hurt and betrayed. Dumbfounded, even. She had even thought to herself, _Maybe I was wrong_…but it was too late. All damage had been done. She told herself it was for the best because even if the attraction wasn't unrequited, it was still inappropriate. It was better this way.

She kept telling herself that later on when they shared drinks at a bar back in New Vegas. The intensity of his stare, the unspoken communication had clearly told her all that she had just cheated herself out of. Monroe had stepped back; he had become coolly detached from her. She was nothing more than a tag along now. She was no longer Bass' partner; Connor was.

She didn't have Miles and she didn't have Bass either.

Without either of them, Charlie had been convinced she would not survive the fight much longer. But she was determined to go out in a blaze of glory. Make her two mentors, both of whom had begrudgingly become so, proud. She couldn't even find it in her to care about her impending death. She just figured it was what it was. Miles would be okay because he had her mom; Bass would be okay because he finally found his son. That train of thought had carried her up to an abandoned office in Austin. There, while her former love nearly strangled her to death, she kept thinking of the one that got away. Charlie thought of Bass and all the things she wished she had said instead. All the things she wished she could do differently.

Then she'd shot Jason and all that disappeared in a cloud of self-hate. Until Neville blew the cloud away with a simple pull of the trigger. But by then it was too late again. She helped Miles' betray Bass and everything that followed had just unfolded so fast she nearly had whiplash as they bounced from one plan to the next. Bass' look at her when she'd stepped out of that old store after destroying the mustard gas had been reminiscent of the same look he'd given her in New Vegas. And then he was gone.

Until he came back and betrayed them right back. And still he managed to save her life again.

All these thoughts were swirling in her head while Jace Potter worked his easy charm on her. So while she gave him some attention, most of it was spent circling around thoughts of Bass. And it pissed her off. After sleeping with Connor those feelings for Monroe had abated some, tempered by the overwhelming shame of what she'd done. Maybe she just needed to try it again. This time not with Connor, not that he was nearby to use that way anyway. Never with Connor after that one and only time.

So she agreed to leave the bar with Jace Potter and led him back to her room in the inn. Once inside, she let sweet Jace kiss her and she tried not to focus on how much she wished she felt the sexy scratch of a beard on her skin. His face was smooth, clean shaven and she forced herself not to regret that. She pushed him towards her bed. He reached down to grab the hem of her shirt when a knock sounded at her door, which was opened quickly without waiting for a reply. "Charlotte—"

She couldn't believe it had happened again. She thanked whatever God there may be that at least she was fully dressed as Bass walked into her room. Of course, if she had been dressed for Wisconsin winters it would have made no difference. Bass' stare stripped her bare. The cold fury crossed his face and he was marching over to them.

Jace Potter no more than got a few minor words of protest out before Monroe threw him out of the room.

"Hey what the hell are you doing?" Charlie demanded when she'd gotten over the shock.

"That's precisely what I was going to ask you, Charlie," Monroe said as he swung back around to face her. "I mean, come on, we're supposed to be finding your boyfriend and you can't even wait long enough to be with him? Not to mention we just found out the war is going to shit and all you can think about is getting laid?"

Charlie's own fury rose up vicious and quick. "Connor is _not_ my boyfriend. So I don't have to wait around for him for anything. Besides, who I sleep with is none of your damn business Monroe."

Monroe's voice went deceptively quiet. "Oh, you think so? Miles' has asked me to look after you and make sure nothing happens to you."

"I'm pretty sure that Miles' wasn't talking about my sex life."

Monroe's jaw clenched at her words. "Watch how you talk to me."

"Like hell I will!" Charlie shouted. She felt like her eyes must be made out of fire because the intensity of her glare was burning her. "You tell me something, Monroe. Why are you so damn hung up on my sleeping with Connor?"

"I'm not," Monroe denied quickly. Too quickly.

Charlie raised a questioning brow. "You've brought it up quite a lot, Monroe, for someone who is not interested. You seemed pretty pissed off when you found us in New Vegas."

Monroe's hands unwittingly balled into fists at the reminder. He swore sometimes that the image of Connor lying down next to Charlie was seared into his brain. Every little reminder marked the brand deeper. "You two were irresponsible. We were there for business."

"How is it any different than you sleeping with Duncan?" Charlie demanded. She regretted the words instantly. She didn't have an image to recall, but her imagination worked wonders. It had been one of the impetuses pushing her towards Connor.

Monroe actually blinked in surprise at Charlie's words, which only made her madder. Did he really think she didn't know what he'd been doing once he had kicked everyone else out of the tent? "I wasn't sleeping with Duncan. I was negotiating with her."

Charlie scoffed. "Yeah, I know just how you were negotiating with her. It was obvious you guys had something going on."

"We did at one time," Bass admitted. "But I was there to buy mercenaries. Not get into bed with her."

The realization that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion filled Charlie with shame and embarrassment. In that moment she realized what sleeping with Connor was all about: she had wanted to hurt Monroe in the way she thought he had hurt her with Duncan. It made her feel dirty. That only spurred more anger at Monroe. "Well how the hell was I supposed to know that? You were all mixed signals. Not telling Gould and Duncan there was nothing going on with us and then kicking me out of the damn tent."

"You held a gun to her head!" Monroe snapped, incredulous. He had never envisioned that Charlie had thought he was sleeping with Duncan at the time. Though he hadn't been sure what to do about it, Charlie had already been consuming his thoughts. He knew he could never do anything about them, but they had also prevented him from thinking of being with another woman. "I didn't think you would be the best negotiator for us."

"She threatened you! What was I supposed to do?" Charlie demanded. She licked her lips as she spoke and something about that made Bass snap.

It was not just that it drove his focus to her lips. Lips that had haunted him for months without ever having the pleasure of touching and tasting. No, it was that Bass realized that she licked her lips and tasted another man there instead. Dark clouds rolled in his head again and he went insane.

He stepped to her in one single stride and crushed his mouth to hers. The shock caused Charlie to gasp and he took advantage of the opening to force his tongue into her mouth. He left no corner of her mouth untasted. He wanted to erase any taste of any other man. Her lips had been so soft, a contrary piece of someone usually so strong, and she tasted like summer. Golden and bright and hot. One hand was up on her neck, fingers splayed to touch her cheek and her hair. The other hand dug into her hip to hold her close to him.

To Monroe's unmistakable surprise, Charlie was kissing him back. After the initial surprise, Charlie had thrown herself heedless into the kiss. His soft lips were complimented by the coarseness of his beard. The two warring sensations sent her wheeling. Her hands moved up to run through his unruly curly hair. The strands were softer than she thought they'd be. So many delicious surprises in this kiss that was never supposed to happen. She tasted faint whiskey and she knew that Bass had found somewhere to drink through his thoughts.

When he sucked on her tongue, she groaned. The sensation made all the heat pool in her center. She nearly went limp into his embrace.

Except the sound had broken the spell and Bass pulled away. His cerulean eyes were dazed, almost uncomprehending. She wanted to smile at him but she didn't think her brain could process thoughts yet. When a pressure built in her chest, she realized she wasn't breathing and gasped out a breath. The sound, the feel of her breath on him snapped Bass out of his daze. She saw how Bass disappeared behind a mask. Monroe was glaring at her but he said nothing. He just left her alone in her room to stew about the kiss and linger over the taste of him on her lips all the rest of the night.

Charlie didn't know why but something in that kiss had branded her more than Monroe's mark on her wrist ever could.

* * *

**A/N 2: **I know this was a lot of internal stuff and not so much dialogue. I did that for two reasons. The first is that it really didn't matter what Jace was saying to Charlie; it mattered who wasn't saying it. It was a way to show how little she actually cared for him. I hope you agree and think it works the way it is (feel free to let me know.) The second, I just couldn't stand to write some other guy trying to get her attention when I desperately want to get these two together in my story. LOL. Miles' letter was my humorous (I hope) attempt at setting up the rest of the story that Charloe will find themselves in (b/c frankly it's still all about Charloe). Question: Did the kiss work for you? I'm never sure when it comes to writing that stuff. Please leave me a review or drop me a PM. Both make me really happy and I'm convinced are helpful to a speedy recovery! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**_Poison and Wine _**

**_Chapter 4_**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Revolution or its characters. I'm just borrowing them since NBC decided to throw them out with the bath water.

**A/N: **Thanks for all the wonderful comments about chapter 3. I'm glad people liked the kiss. I didn't see any complaints about the lack of dialogue, so apparently that wasn't a problem. I'm doing my best to keep up with people's comments. If I didn't reply to you, I'm sorry. Things have just been really crazy lately. My surgery went well—so yay! I've been resting in bed and scribbling away on paper. The rough draft of seven is done (and eight is nearly done) so I thought I'd update. Hope you enjoy. Please read and review. There is more traffic than reviewers, so please drop me a line. It really is encouraging.

* * *

When dawn came the next morning, Charlie had seen little in the way of sleep. Every time she fell under, her dreams were a storm of Sebastian Monroe. The feel of his hand on her, the taste of his mouth on hers, all combined for unrelenting dreams. Much of the night she had sat on the window seat staring out at the night, the cooler night air brushing her skin through the opened window. She'd finally fallen asleep with her head resting on her knees.

She had never felt so confused in her life. Admittedly, before last night Monroe was having her all twisted but she'd been able to ignore it as much as possible. But now…how could she go on pretending that her feelings weren't there, continue believing that, however inappropriate they were, at least they went unrequited?

Bass' kiss last night hadn't been from unrequited feelings. He had felt the same for her as she felt for him in that moment. Maybe all along. Was that why he was so focused on her sleeping with Connor? Had he been hurt as well as jealous? She had wanted to hurt him and she had. But she had thought it was in retaliation for the pain she felt thinking of him with Duncan had brought. Yet she was the one who had hurt herself that night.

Experiencing Bass' loss of control had cracked something in Charlie. That kiss had been the headiest encounter she'd ever had with a guy. She could only imagine what sleeping with Bass would do to her. But the strength of her reaction had been more than lust. Charlie could take or leave lust; it just was. Fun was fun but when it was done, that was it. But she couldn't stop thinking about a kiss. The kiss. It felt like it had been the only true kiss she'd ever had in her life. She desperately wanted to figure out all these entanglements that were tripping her up inside and was equally terrified of whatever answer they would bring.

Determined to ignore it—and working hard to convince herself it was the only sensible action to take about it—she left the inn after stealing a breakfast muffin that was left on the table. She was going to check on the horses. She wasn't sure what Monroe would want to do now if they had no idea what direction Connor had gone. Had he decided to give up the search and return to Austin and the war? Or would he just leave Texas all together, without his son and without going to war? What would she do if he did?

She knew what she would do. She would return to Austin and fight anyway. She would hate it, but she would fight without Bass at her side. And she would miss him always but she couldn't stop being who she was for him.

Bass watched her leave the inn. He hadn't slept at all the night before. Her taste, touch, smell, sounds haunted him. He hadn't been able to stay in the inn with nothing more than a wall separating them. He had spent the whole night thinking about what the kiss meant. It had been blinding that delicious way her mouth melded to his. He had never expected her to be so responsive.

In the first second after he had pulled her mouth to his, he had panicked. He hadn't exactly asked for permission to kiss her; hadn't even thought about it. The magnetic pull between them had overtaken him. Irrational jealousy had spurred him on. It was the second time he had caught Charlie in a compromising position. He had barely restrained himself from pummeling Connor, but it was only the fact that he was his son that had kept his fist from his face. But the stupid bastard last night had no such reprieve. He almost snapped his neck as he'd gripped him by the throat and dragged him forcefully out of Charlie's room.

Without him there to distract Monroe, he'd turned his black fury onto Charlie. He'd been rude and crass with her. He'd had a few bad moments over the night thinking about it. But his panic over her resistance had morphed when she had done anything but resist. She had pushed herself closer and pulled him deeper into her mouth by yanking his head down further.

Everything he'd used to keep a distance between them evaporated in her eager willingness. It was obvious that she was interested in him as he was her. Trying to figure out how she could be kept him up for part of the night too. He once said he'd never understand Charlotte Matheson and truer words were never said. For the briefest of moments Bass had let himself sink into the beautiful fantasy that Charlie would ever allow herself to belong to him. It wasn't the sex, though after the kiss Bass had no doubts that it would be incredible with her. In his mind, in that brief fantasy, they'd shared something else. Something stronger than just instinctual lust. They'd shared love.

And Bass knew that could never be. She was Miles' niece. Though after last night, it was becoming harder to associate her as anything other than an utterly, devastatingly beautiful and sexy woman. But Miles was his brother; he liked to think they could find a way to navigate a way to fix the thing between them that they both had broken. If he slept with Charlie just to satiate his desire, it would be irreparable. Charlotte was tempting and haunting, and clearly was attracted to him, but that didn't mean love.

He would not risk his brother for lust.

Plus he doubted he could just settle for simple sex with her. She opened up things inside of him he had thought were long dead. Being close to her without real intimacy would probably just push him over the edge again. He feared he would hurt her when he grew to resent what she could never give him. Charlie would never be free to give him her heart because of Rachel, Ben and Danny. He was only asking for himself to be kicked around by thinking he could settle for scraps or thinking he could ever convince her to give him more than her body.

Bass watched her leave the inn and head in the direction of the stables. Instead of following after her he entered the inn. They were going to leave Abilene today. Before the kiss with Charlotte, Bass had been thinking about what his next move would be. They had lost the trail to Connor and they could traipse across Texas trying to track him and in the meantime Miles could face serious trouble on the warfront.

The idea of his brother being at war without him hadn't settled well with him. If he went along with what Texas (and apparently Miles) planned, news would reach Connor. He would know to find Bass back east at the head of the Republic again. If Connor wanted to have a relationship with him, it would be up to him. He hoped word would reach Connor and he would return. Bass didn't want to lose what little there was left of his family. But family also included Miles. It always had and always would. And his brother was asking for his help.

Besides he knew that Charlie wouldn't stay out of the battle for long. The thought of her on the front lines where he couldn't watch out for her had sent a spike of fear in his heart. No, he could not leave her. He may never have her, but he couldn't abandon her either. Life apart from her and life with her and yet without her would be two different kinds of hell he would be doomed to. He picked the hell he could more easily live with.

He was repacking his bag when a knock sounded on his door. He opened it and saw Charlie standing there. "What do you want Charlie?"

"Can I come in?"

He wanted to say no but instead stepped out of the way to let her in. As she passed him the smell of her soap—vanilla and lavender—overtook him and his hand squeezed the door handle to resist reaching out and running his fingers through her beautiful blonde locks.

"I have something you need to hear," she said after he'd shut the door.

"Like what?"

"I think I have a lead on Connor," she said with a victorious smile.

Bass hadn't expected that. He'd expected recriminations about his behavior last night. This had been the last thing he'd expected. It also threw all his plans into disarray. "How?"

"You remember the guy you threw out of my room last night? His name is Jace and he is an apprentice blacksmith. I ran into him down at the stables. He wanted to make sure I was okay after last night," Charlie explained. "He wanted to know if the lunatic who had barged into my room had hurt me. I told him that you were upset because you thought I was forgetting what we were in town for. I told him we were trying to find someone. He didn't recognize Connor but he did recognize Neville's description. He thought Neville was a bit crazy."

"Get to the point, Charlie," Bass said. He was using most of his energies to not react to the news that she'd spent the morning with lover boy from last night.

"He said that Neville passed through here a couple days ago and left with a small group heading up north to Guthrie. Connor may have been in the group," Charlie explained. "If we head out today we can maybe catch up to him in a week." When Bass didn't say anything but kept staring at a spot on the wall over her head she became worried. She thought he'd be relieved to know that he was closer to finding Connor. "Is something wrong?"

Bass heaved a sigh. "Damn it."

"I'm sorry?"

"After we lost track of him, I'd decided we needed to get back to Austin. But now…"

"Now we'll keep going on, right?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," Bass said. "I'm debating about sending you back to Austin with some Rangers."

"Excuse me?" Charlie said unamused. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

"You said Guthrie. I can follow him to there without help. Miles' letter said he needed help," Bass said. He might as well have split himself in pieces because a piece wanted to find his son, back up his brother and protect his not-really-his girl. The thought of separating from her felt like drinking acid. But he knew that Miles would look out for her.

"If this is about last night—"

"Last night was a mistake," Bass said. But it hadn't felt wrong, it had felt amazing.

If he had slapped her, Charlie would have felt less pain than his handful of words brought her. She hadn't expected sweeping declarations of love, but complete disregard hadn't been planned for either. But if there was anything in this world that Charlotte Matheson excelled at, it was dealing when people left or disappointed her. So she tucked away whatever pain his callous disregard brought. "I won't argue with you. But I'm still going to Guthrie. I will be the one decide when I go back to Austin. And I won't be going with any Texas Ranger bodyguard either."

"Damn it, Charlie," Bass bit off.

"It's not up for discussion. Any of it. I'm going to go pack my bag and settle up with the innkeeper. Since it appears you are all ready, you can go prep the horses. I will meet you there," Charlie said before walking out of the room.

Bass knew nothing could ever come between them. But damn if her lack of protest hadn't stung.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Poison and Wine _**

**_Chapter 5_**

**Disclaimer: **Still the same ol' song. But I'm still eagerly awaiting the delivery of David Lyons' to my doorstep. Anytime.

**Author's Note: **This chapter has a bit more action (not _that_ kind, lol) than the previous chapters. There will be more of this coming down the pike (_that_ too). This chapter also pushes the plot forward more. I think there might be a twist at the end; I'm not sure if you saw it coming or not. I have no idea when the next update will be. But I decided to be kind and come online to post this chapter. My recovery isn't going as well as planned, so I can't stick to a committed update schedule. Sorry for that. I'll do my best. As always, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd leave a review or a PM after you've read. Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

**Shamrock, Texas**

**Two Weeks Later**

The last bit of good luck Charlie and Bass shared was the news about Neville and possibly Connor in Abilene. Everything else seemed to have gone to hell afterwards. Bass was still shaking his head over the rather pointed downturn in their luck.

First, they reached Guthrie to learn that Neville—and someone who matched Connor's description—had left the day before with a group of five others. A day behind wasn't much to worry over. If they both pushed, they could probably catch up by the next day. And they probably would have.

If they hadn't been ambushed by Patriots.

_Between Austin and the shack, and from there to Abilene, the amount of words exchanged between Charlie and Monroe wouldn't have been enough to tip the scales one way or another. But the loaded silence since Abilene felt heavier; this felt like a communication neither could decode. Now they weren't even sharing those quick conversations with their eyes. It was true radio silence. _

_Charlie was about to say they needed to stop to give the horses water when all hell broke loose. Gunfire broke out around them and suddenly Charlie was going to the ground. She realized an instant before her butt hit the ground that her horse had been shot out from underneath her. The image of it falling on top of her flashed and Charlie forced herself to roll away quickly despite the jarring shock her fall sent through her body. Her quick thinking spared her life; the horse fell down right where she had just landed. As it was her foot did get stuck but she managed to pull it free. It didn't feel like it was broken. _

_"__Charlotte!" Bass cried out when the bullets started flying and simultaneously she and her horse both went down. His heart had lodged in his throat by the force of the fear that she had been shot. Then he heard gunshots ringing out from the ground and realized she'd grabbed her gun and was returning fire. _

_"__Monroe, cover me!" she shouted as she got up and started running for the tree line. He took his own gun and lay cover fire as she ran. The whole time he was moving his own horse after her. Once he was shielded by the trees, he jumped down and grabbed his gun and ammo. _

_"__What do we do?" Charlie demanded when he got down. If this was Miles he would just say something like "Pittsburgh." Or even Iraq and Miles would know. _

_"__We are completely outgunned. We'll run out of ammo if we just keep shooting out at them," Monroe told her. "I think there were five of them. I'm going to head down about a quarter mile or so and cross over to their side. I'll sneak up on them. You keep them engaged from here so they don't suspect one of us has gone." _

_"__Should we split up?" Charlie asked. _

_Monroe looked down at her. Did he want to leave Charlie to the risk that she could be taken out as she was outgunned? No. But staying there just to eat through their ammo wouldn't protect her either. Monroe was determined that Charlie would survive this skirmish. "Do you trust me, Charlotte?" _

_"__Yes," she said. The simple word battered at his already bruised heart. _

_"__Then do as I say. It'll be okay." _

_"__But what about you?" Charlie whispered. _

_Her fear for him did nothing to strengthen his resolve. He wanted to drag her away into the trees, hide her away forever and tell her that the kiss had been anything but a mistake. That it had been the only thing on his mind in days. But he didn't. But none of that was any good. It didn't protect her. _

_"__I'll be back," Monroe promised and resisted pressing a quick kiss to her lips, which she was unconsciously worrying, and ran off. _

_Charlie peered around a tree and started shooting back. She knew she needed to keep moving because once she fired, she gave away her location. But doing so would just make her a moving target. But she had to do it because Bass was counting on her to distract the bastards. She let out another shot again and then forced herself up and dashed to another tree and shot out again. She just prayed that she didn't accidentally hit Bass. _

_She kept repeating the process. She took the time to look before she shot and managed to kill one of them with a bullet to the head. She thought she might have hit another one because she heard a grunt from one of the Patriots. She was running out of bullets. She made another dash down the tree line and opened fire again. But the return volley wasn't as much and then she heard bullets fired but didn't hear them landing anywhere around her. Then it was just quiet. _

_Charlie raised the gun and turned from her spot, prepared to shoot until she was out of bullets if this was a trap. As she spun out from behind the tree, she saw Bass—bloodied but unharmed—striding across the road to her. "Are you hurt?" he asked. _

_"__No, I don't think so," Charlie said. _

_"__You're bleeding," Bass observed. _

_Charlie looked down at her arm. The blood was running down her from her upper arm. "I'm not shot. I must have gotten hit by some of the bark from their shots. I'll be okay." _

_Monroe stared hard at her for a long moment. She saw something flash there that looked like relief until he shut it down and they were on radio silence again. They proceeded to take whatever they could off the Patriots and then dropped the bodies to the side of the road. Charlie's horse was a loss so they ended up riding together on Bass' which slowed down their progress even further. _

A week later they had reached a little Podunk town, Shamrock, Texas. It was clear that even before the blackout it hadn't exactly been a thriving metropolis. It had just been another small town in a rather big state. Bass was already prepared to learn they had hit another road block. Maybe fate really didn't want Connor with him.

How else could it have conspired that Bass never knew about his son? There were years before the blackout when anyone from home could have let it slip that Emma had a kid. Back then you could share anything at the drop of hat with Twitter and Facebook. How had he not known when he'd gone back to bury his family? Granted, he'd been a little preoccupied with the crushing grief and the overwhelming desire to put himself in the ground next to them. Years later when Miles had left to hide Connor—which Bass still couldn't figure out why he would need to—how had he not suspected when Miles disappeared for the weeks it took him to return to Jasper and then travel to Mexico? Why had Emma felt the need to hide Connor from a man who didn't even know he existed? If Bass hadn't somehow discovered him back when people spilled their lives for digital consumption at regular intervals, what was the real chance he'd learn about Connor sequestered mostly in Philly? Why hadn't she gone to Mexico with him if she'd been so concerned? Hadn't she thought it a bit of a risk to let Miles know when there was a chance he could have told Bass instead? But it was hard to ask questions of a dead woman, so he had to live with them being unanswered.

So when Bass and Charlie walked into a tiny bar, he was absolutely surprised to discover his son propped up in the corner with a few girls around him. He had actually begun giving up hope. The surprise gave way to fury.

His son was lounging away in a bar while he traipsed all over godforsaken Texas backcountry. He'd spent weeks on the road, riddled with guilt and worried as hell over what Neville would drag his kid into and Connor was just knocking 'em back with pretty women. He had a sudden recollection of the punk he had met in Mexico. Connor had led him to believe he was interested in talking with him and he'd just set him up to be captured by Nunez and used as a means to rise up through the cartel.

Monroe wondered now if it had all been a game with Connor. If all Bass counted for was a means for Connor to become king himself. Not second seat to Nunez or his old man. Bass had wanted family, by whatever means necessary. He'd felt fiercely protective of Connor the moment he'd learned of his existence; meeting him had only strengthened the need. He had let Connor whip him, had allowed Connor to gain the upper hand in New Vegas, and he had watched his back always. Every time someone had threatened Connor, it had been a kneejerk reaction to attack and protect. Family had always slipped through Bass' fingers—no matter how tightly he clutched at it.

He hadn't really clung to his parents and sisters, because he'd had no real understanding of loss before then. He had just existed in a state of ease. Bass had never doubted that his family would always be there. Until they weren't. Then he had found Shelly. Shelly, who had been an unexpected treasure found during a dark time for humanity. Miles had worried about survival. Bass hadn't fussed over much about crops and cattle. Shelly and their baby had brought a bit of light back into his world, which had already gone dark before the blackout. But they had slipped through his fingers, just like red water.

All through that he had clung to Miles. The only family he'd known in every life he'd ever lived. And in trying to keep him, protect him, Bass had unknowingly driven him away.

Now he wondered if he needed to try it differently. Maybe he needed to stop clinging in an effort to keep. Maybe he needed to let Connor go so that he could come back. Bass had given up on Miles, but now they were on the slow process of mending fences. He hoped.

"Life good for you, Connor?" Bass said by way of greeting.

"Never better old man," Connor slurred. He raised his glass in mock salute and drank the whiskey down.

Charlie made a low sound of disgust. Bass looked over and saw that her face matched her tone. Connor clearly revolted her.

"Will you ladies excuse us?" Monroe asked politely. He used the smile that had never failed at winning over the ladies. Sure enough, the three girls got up without complaint and one of them even grabbed his ass as she walked by.

Monroe looked at Charlie, standing to his left, who had a look of disbelief on her face. Bass almost laughed. It was petty of him but it did his ego a world of good. _It's not so easy watching someone paw all over me, is it? Now you know what I felt_, he thought. "You too, Charlie."

"No. I'm not leaving," Charlie said resolutely.

"I would like to talk to Connor privately," Bass said.

Charlie shook her head, unmoved. "No. The last time you tried to talk with him he tried to have you killed. I'm not leaving you alone with him. It's not up for discussion."

Connor scoffed. "Whine to her did you? Finally decide to try for her now that I'm gone?"

"Shut-up, Connor," Charlie said. "You don't get to use me as a weapon against him. Besides, you were nothing more than a great mistake for me."

Charlie's reprimand appeared to sober Connor up as he flushed from embarrassment. Monroe ignored both of them. Though, he couldn't prevent his heart from reacting to her words. Combined with her refusal to leave him without backup should Connor attempt to murder him again was making it all the harder for Monroe to remember all his very good, logical reasons why he needed to stay away from Charlotte.

"How did you find me?" Connor asked.

"Not easily," Monroe confessed. "What the hell are you doing here in Nowhere-rock Texas? And where is Neville?"

"That crazy son of bitch and I parted company a ways back," Connor said. "He was always talking to himself or at walls or trees or whatever the fuck that wasn't an actual person."

"Huh?"

"I don't have a clue." Connor confessed.

"Is he still alive?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah. I didn't want any trouble with the group he was with, so I just left quickly and quietly," Connor said.

"What made you decide to leave?" Bass asked.

"Two things. The first, guess who joined his little band of crazies?" Monroe and Charlie both shrugged, unsure. Connor laughed darkly, "Truman and Davis."

"What?" Monroe asked. "I thought Davis was being held by Texas. I figured he'd be sentenced to death by now. They sure didn't waste any damn time on me."

"I don't know. I asked Davis how the hell he got away. He said in this very even tone that he 'couldn't stay because he just had to get to Bradbury, Idaho.'"

"Bradbury?" Charlie interrupted.

"Yep. In fact, that's where they were all going. By the time I left Neville, his little band of crazies was nearing two dozen. Every single one of them just knew how to find each other and were all headed to this little shithole town," Connor explained.

"What was the second thing that made you decide to cut ties?" Monroe asked.

Connor scoffed, "I started seeing and talking to my dead mother. I figured hanging out with Neville had started to wear off on me."

"If you knew he'd lost his mind, why did you travel with him?" Charlie asked.

Monroe was also curious to hear this answer. Connor gave an unapologetic shrug. "He told me that he would lead me to an army. Sure enough, we started picking up all these other people. They all said Bradbury was where they all needed to go. I figured Neville knew about some militia there because of his time with the Patriots and the Monroe militia. Apparently it's just an army of psychos."

"Charming," Charlie said dryly. Monroe knew that Rachel had lost her mind after the tower.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Connor ignored her, directing his words to his father. "Unless Miles is just outside, that is. I didn't think you could stand to be parted from your boyfriend for longer than a day."

Monroe rolled his eyes. It was an old rumor that he and Miles had been anything more than best friends and brothers. He did love Miles. But there was never anything sexual about it, ever, for either of them. Monroe found it rather sad and narrow-minded that people just assumed two guys couldn't be close without it being sexual. It was also annoying because this was the third time that Connor had made such a comment. What Monroe could tell now that he hadn't before was that Connor's words reeked of jealousy.

He was jealous of his bond with Miles. But that had been born long before Connor; it just simply was now. It existed for him like an arm or a leg. He knew what it was like to exist as an amputee without Miles; it wasn't pretty. Did he want to be bonded with Connor? God, yes. But he couldn't make the same mistakes twice. He just couldn't.

If he led Connor to the trough, he would be a glutton. Leading Connor to the head of the Republic would be no different than when he had been its demented leader. Monroe looked briefly over at Charlie. She had once offered herself up in the name of the greater good. To save people from him. Now it was time for Bass to sacrifice to spare people of the same thing.

He had to cut ties with Connor. And he had to get back to Austin.

Cutting out Connor would not be as obvious as amputating an arm or leg; instead it would be like cutting out an internal organ. He just didn't know which one and what the damage would be. But once upon a time, doctors used to remove diseased organs to spare the body. Somehow the body adjusted and learned to live without the missing piece. Bass could only pray he'd learn to do the same.

He wanted to make amends. Maybe denying himself the one thing he always wanted would count in the plus column. It already hurt, this ripping feeling burning inside of him. Christ, he hoped the pain would count for something.

"Actually we are headed back to Austin now to work with Texas against the Patriots," Bass said.

Connor scoffed with derision. "You're working _for _Texas now?"

Monroe didn't confirm or deny, "In a manner of speaking. These are bad times, Connor."

"You never were going to be able to do it, were you?" Connor sneered. He huffed out a breath in disgust. "Reclaim the Republic? You're too weak."

The insult struck home and Monroe felt his son's words burn like a flint strike on the kindling of his temper. He wanted to lash out and tell Connor that he could do it. He most likely was going to. But he couldn't do it with him. Or for him. Monroe wanted to spare his son all the hard lessons he'd learned during his rather tumultuous life. But Connor would never listen; he needed to fail before he could truly succeed. Letting Connor fall was the last bit of parenting Monroe could give his son. He hoped Emma would understand; he doubted seriously that she approved of how Connor's life had turned out. She'd tried to spare him life as a Monroe, but his life with Nunez had taught him the same dark lessons except that Nunez had only painted pretty pictures of what power meant.

Monroe knew because he'd fallen for the same twisted ideals. But anyone could be a ruler; it was harder to be a leader.

"If you change your mind, Connor. Go to Austin. They'll be able to tell you how to find me," Monroe said. "Take care of yourself. You need anything, come to me. I love you, son." Then Monroe stood up from the rickety table and left the bar.

Charlie sat flabbergasted by the turn of events. She thought that once Monroe had reunited with his son he would have lured him in with more promises of the Republic, especially when it was practically being endorsed by Texas. Instead, Monroe hadn't said a word about it. He'd just said goodbye. Even Connor seemed stunned by his father's brushoff. Charlie jumped up from the table and went hunting down Monroe. She swore she spent half her time hunting down one Monroe or another.

Charlie knew that his heart had to be broken. There was one thing that she could never deny or fault him for: Monroe loved his son, unquestionably. She tried to figure out his thoughts that led to this unexpected, unfathomable decision. Why? How? Had that been the plan all along?

Her own heart was clutching in her chest. He was as committed to family as she. Yet Monroe had just cut off the last of his family. She just wanted to find him. Charlie had no idea what she could do for him when she did. But the crack that Monroe had created inside of her when he'd kissed her was now being filled up with pain. She hurt for him. Rather, his pain hurt her.

When the hell had that happened?


	6. Chapter 6

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 6_**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Revolution or have any association with it or anyone involved with it. Sadly.

**Author's Note: **I was going to post this last night but then I had a power outage so I couldn't. No, the irony was not lost on me. This has the two sides of Charlie in it: the compassionate and the badass. Thanks for all the kind reviews of Ch 5. Please read and review here too. Thanks. : )

* * *

There was only one place that rented out rooms in Shamrock. Charlie didn't find him there. She secured their only vacancy before renewing her search for Bass. There may have been only one inn but there were two bars. She found him there with a glass and a bottle. She wished she knew how to fix what was broken in him. But Maggie had taught her triage not broken hearts.

"What do you want Charlie?" Monroe asked when she sat beside him. By the looks of it he'd forsaken the glass for the bottle. Charlie snagged the bottle from him and then poured herself some. It was some kind of moonshine and it very nearly stripped her insides on the way down.

"You here to gloat?"

"About what?" Charlie asked.

"I've lost my son," Bass said. _I never really had him_, he thought.

"Why would I gloat about that?" she wondered.

"It's what I deserve, isn't it? I'm a lying sociopath who says what I need to get what I want, right? I destroyed your family, so this is my comeuppances."

"Except you didn't," Charlie refuted.

"I didn't what?" Monroe asked. The stuff he was drinking had to be ten times more potent than whatever Connor had been drinking but Bass was stone cold sober.

"You didn't say what you needed to get what you want this time. You want your son and you could have lured him back with the Republic. You have the means now. You practically have a Texas endorsement. Frankly, Miles' too, albeit reluctantly. He'll probably help you. This is what Connor wants, all he wants. Why didn't you just offer it to him?"

"Because you're right. That's all Connor wants. Mixing that with the Republic would be disastrous. It would be disastrous for _me_ because he could very easily influence me. If I do what Texas wants, I need to avoid temptation. I don't want to be him again."

Whatever little resistance Charlie had been clinging to dissolved. She reached over and took his hand in hers. His vivid blue eyes pierced hers. The radio silence was gone. He wanted to know what she was doing. Charlie wished she knew but she decided to follow her instincts. "C'mon Bass. This isn't what you need. This stuff will eat you alive from the inside the way it burns."

Bass laughed darkly. "Just trying to cauterize the bleeding," he said.

Charlie understood. Each time she lost someone she cared about it was like they had ripped out pieces of her when they went. Every time it felt like she would bleed to death, but she hadn't yet. But a person couldn't keep being ripped apart and expected to endure. Charlie was terribly afraid that this would be Bass' mortal wound. She stood up and tugged at his hand until he stood up with her. He refused to leave the bottle behind but he followed her out of the bar to the small room she'd rented. She sat him on the bed and then sat next to him.

Then she did something Bass had never expected. She hugged him.

Bass couldn't recall the last hug he'd been given. Years, truly. The gesture, the comfort and sympathy it implied, broke something in Bass. Suddenly the pain that had been filling him up was released. It didn't matter that he was twenty years older and the last person to deserve Charlotte Matheson's compassion. Bass sobbed into her. She cradled him close, rocking slightly and brushing her slender fingers through his hair. She never murmured a word of senseless platitudes. She just held on and understood. This, this moment Bass felt his heart trip from lust to love. Unyielding, absolute love.

* * *

Charlie held him for a long time. She absorbed as much of his misery as her body could endure. When Bass fell asleep, she laid him back on the bed and settled him in to sleep through the rest of his pain. She had taken his misery and turned it into her own fury. She left Bass to sleep and went on one last search for Junior Monroe. She'd make that idiot feel her ire. She found him where they left him. He had his harem at his side again.

Charlie strode over, her long strides eating up the bar floor easily. She ignored a whistle blown her way by an ogling customer who had enjoyed the way her hips swayed with her steps. "Get lost," Charlie told the girls. If any wished to argue they thought better of it when they saw the look in her eyes and the way her hand rested on the handle of the knife at her side.

"No need to be jealous Charlie," Connor said arrogantly. "There's more than enough of me to go around."

Charlie snickered derisively. "Please. You forget: I've already experienced you. It wasn't nearly as impressive as you like to think."

Charlie saw when her words struck home. His dark eyes lost that dazed look and cold fury shown instead. Yes, she had his number, she realized. This was a man-child who had been raised to believe that power was everything. Anything less made a man impotent. Someone obsessed over power only when they were powerless. "Watch yourself, Charlie."

"Oh, look at you. Big, macho man sitting around on his drunken ass while whores ply you with attention for as long as your money holds out," Charlie said. "Weren't you some stupid cartel hotshot? Weren't you the _rightful heir_ to the Republic?"

Charlie leaned down so she was in his face. "The truth is you're _pathetic_. You imagine yourself as someone important. You're not. You are the weak one. All that power you claimed was yours was just borrowed. Those were Nunez's men. He just rented them out to you in exchange for loyalty. Even Neville—you put up with him just because you thought he'd _lead_ you to power. You sell your loyalty to whoever can give you the most power. That just makes you another whore, Connor. And the Republic you want? That's his. Actually his and Miles'—they _built_ that together. It may have said 'Monroe' but it was just as much Matheson." She showed him the brand on her arm. "M for both, see? In their minds the whole thing belonged to them both. You'll never get in between them because you can't understand them. They'll never find room for you otherwise.

"And don't think the keys to the kingdom are just dangling there for you. I'm a Matheson too. I've just as much right to claim them as you. I'd rather drink toxic water, but I'd do it just to spite you. You ignorant asshole. God help me but he deserves a better son than the one he got. But I _see_ you. Monroe doesn't—not fully yet. You would let them build you an empire and then you'd stab them in the back."

Charlie saw surprise flicker over his face. She realized he thought his final endgame had been a well-kept secret. But someone who wanted power as much as Connor did, and was too weak to gain it for himself, would never meekly sit in second or third command. He was a vulture and that she let him touch her made her skin crawl. She wanted to pour Bass' liquor on herself to burn away any remnants of Connor's touch. "Did you really think you'd get away with it? How would you've tried? Try to kill them yourself? No. That's not your style. Probably pay someone to do it for you." Charlie could not contain her disgust. "You'd never succeed. They're too good, too smart. And I would always be on the lookout."

"You can be dealt with too," Connor threatened.

"Do you think Miles would let you breathe if you ever tried?" Charlie let loose a laugh. She was clearly unafraid of him. It infuriated him. "And him? Do you think he'd let you hurt me?"

"My dad's soft spot for you can be managed," Connor sneered, clearly pleased with himself.

Charlie stood up straight again, shocked into understanding. That's what New Vegas had been about for him. He must have noticed all the strange mixed signals Bass and she exchanged. Connor had seen her as a weakness that needed to be neutralized. Connor had slept with her to see how far he could push his dad. Bass had withdrawn from her and chose his son.

But Connor had never anticipated the deeper bond Bass shared with her uncle. Bass had been attracted to her but they'd both been resistant to it. Her actions had just made him more determined to ignore the feelings. But the brotherhood between Miles and Bass: It had twisted itself around decades, shared successes and failures, heartbreak and mutual assassination attempts.

"You're a jerk," Charlie said. "He _loves_ you. He would do anything for you. Why can't you be worthy of that? I didn't know your mom but I've heard about her. She didn't sound like the type of person to approve of what you've turned into."

"Like she'd care. She sent me away and never once came to check on me," Connor spat. "She never knew I was starving and homeless."

"My mom abandoned us and left me in charge of my little brother. I was ten. Do you think that was easy? You think I never went without? I did. But I didn't lick the boots of a bastard like Nunez just for the taste of something." Charlie slammed her hand down on the table for emphasis.

"I learned to take care of myself and my family. When my brother was kidnapped, I walked a thousand miles to get him back. You hated Mexico and wanted to be in Jasper with your mom instead? Why didn't you just go? What stopped you? Oh, that's right. You'd have lost the security of Nunez. I think it's about time you grew up. Until you do, stay away from him. You hurt him because you refused to care about him. He'll never say it or think it, but I will. No son is better than a disappointing one. You finally decide to act like a good one, seek us out in Austin."

"Us?" Connor noted.

"I'm going back with him," Charlie said. "The fighting is serious. The Patriots are using super-soldiers like Jason all the time. He's going to do his part and so am I. Maybe one day you will too. He loves you. And he will always want and miss you. He's more than you deserve."

With that Charlie strode out and headed back to the inn.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Poison and Wine _**

**_Chapter 7_**

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters.

**A/N: **This is smut. If this isn't your thing, you can skip this chapter and not miss anything too much plot wise. If this is your kind of thing, well here you go. I hope it works. I can't tell you how awkward I felt writing this. I totally went out of my comfort zone here. Please drop me a line with your thoughts. : )

* * *

Charlie stood outside the door. She'd been there for ten minutes, unsure of reentering. The possibility of what could happen when they were together in a small room with only one bed kept spinning in her head. She was no virgin, but she might as well be the way her nerves were so jumbled. It was clear they each shared a mutual attraction to one another. But there was something more, some undercurrent that neither of them had yet to examine.

Theirs was a complicated story to say the least. Hate to indifference to begrudging respect to reluctant trust to lust to….

Charlie didn't pity Monroe; he'd hate it if she did. Empathy ran through her bones though. He just wanted to be loved. He wanted to be the chosen one for once. It was a desire, an unfilled dream, they both shared. They were always destined to be leftovers; or worse, substitutes.

She had thought Miles had picked her. He'd chosen to help her in Chicago. Moreover, he'd decided against leaving her after Maggie died. But then her mother had come back to life. Charlie realized she'd only been a placeholder for him. Sure he loved her; but he'd always pick Rachel first.

Bass wanted his son to pick him. Choose him over power. He had loved Connor instantaneously and wanted it to be reciprocated. Bass would willingly lay his life down for his son. But his son would never lay down his desire for power to have a father. That made her heart hurt.

She could ask a million questions of herself as to how she could feel this way for Sebastian Monroe. She would get a million different answers. So she asked herself only one question: What did she want?

She wanted to go in that room and show Bass that he could be loved. She wanted him to leave Shamrock not thinking about Connor's disregard but her and them and this room.

Her sweaty palms slipped on the door handle so she gripped tighter and then pushed open the door. Monroe was sitting up on the bed, back resting against the headboard and his bottle of poison in his hand.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

She shrugged noncommittally. "I had something to see to."

Charlie drank in the sight of him. It made her already tender heart bruise. This would hurt her; she knew she'd never be the same. But she was a Matheson and she bled courage.

She went over to the end of the bed and started to unbuckle the straps on his boots. "What are you doing?" he asked completely taken off guard.

"Sssh," she murmured. Then she stood up and walked around to the edge of the bed closest to him. She stared him in the eyes.

"Charlotte…?" Bass said. She leaned over and quieted him by softly brushing her lips over his. Standing back up she took the bottle from him and set it on the table.

"I want you to think of this and nothing else. When we leave this godforsaken place at first light tomorrow, you will think only of this room whenever you think of Shamrock," she told him. She started to unhook the belts at her waist and set them on the rickety wooden chair. Then she pulled her shirt over her head and then pulled her skintight jeans down her long, lean gorgeous legs.

Bass doubted he'd ever think of another thing for the rest of his life. She straddled him and then leaned down to kiss him again. Their first kiss had been all heat and power. This was slow and tender. She slipped her tongue into his mouth but didn't plunder but instead lingered over every corner in his mouth. As if the longer she lingered the sweeter the taste she would discover. The tenderness swamped him. He gripped her naked hips with his calloused hands and pulled her closer to him. Whenever he tried to deepen the kiss, she resisted. It only drove him further crazy.

She trailed her lips down his neck. She was fascinated by his neck. There was something sexy about it; and she always wanted to rest her head in the crook between it and his shoulder. She kissed and licked her way up to his ear and gently bit the lobe. She felt the tremors run through his body. She moved along his jaw and then just brushed her face against his beard. God she could not get enough of that thing. The first time she had seen him with it had given her a visceral reaction. Of course she'd subdued it to focus on her mission at the time to kill him.

He laughed, a low and sexy sound, as she brushed her face against his beard. The sound lightened her heart. Broken Bass would never laugh; maybe, just maybe, she could figure out how to triage his heart anyway.

She ran her hands down his body until she could pull his shirt over his head. He leaned forward to help her and pressed kisses to the tops of her breasts. The taste of salted sweat mixed with the lingering scent of her soap—always vanilla and lavender—and the need to touch her made his passion blaze out of control. He ran his fingers over her stomach and around to her back. His callouses giving her shivers of her own. He traced his fingertips up her spine and then unhooked her bra before moving up to her shoulders so he could pull the straps down.

His hands traced back up her arms, over and then his thumbs brushed her breasts. Then he leaned forward to feast on her like a man starving. The feel of his mouth on her breasts had Charlie arching back and a moan slipped through her lips. Bass then traced kisses up her slender neck. His thumb traced her wide mouth and she smiled for him. Then he pulled her close and did what he had fantasized about for what felt like forever. Bass leaned forward and pressed his lips to that beautiful dimple and then moved over to her mouth to taste her again. This kiss was stronger than the last. Something about her taste and her scent filling his senses drove him to distraction. Patience was never his strong suit, but he had none for Charlie. He just wanted all and then even more.

Charlie broke the kiss and then brought her hands to his pants. She undid the button and zipper and then moved lower down his body again. As she did her hands brushed against his hard length and his body trembled again with barely restrained need. She gave him a small smirk and he just wanted to bite her mouth.

She crawled down and removed the boots she'd loosened earlier and then pulled his pants down over his hips and off. She discarded them over the edge of the bed. Something caught her eye. He looked where she was staring. He had a small scar on his left thigh. It was an old scar—shrapnel from an explosion in Iraq three lifetimes ago. Then she surprised him by pressing her lips to the white scar. Then her eyes searched over his body. There was another mark on his right hip. That was a bullet from their wars with other militias. She kissed it. She found all the marks on his body and kissed them. She touched his burned tattoo on his arm last. She traced it with her fingertip and then, unthinkably, she placed her matching scar on her right wrist over his scar. The gesture branded him all over again.

Tears pooled in his eyes unknowingly. When she had climbed back up to straddle him she waited for his eyes to look into hers. She waited until she knew he could see past the sheen of tears. Charlie moved her fingertips to brush over his heart but never broke eye contact with him. He read the message in her eyes clear enough; when she saw that he understood she gave him a soft smile then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his heart.

Undone, he pulled her up to him and then overpowered her so she lay down on the bed beneath him. His lips began their own exploration and worshipping of her body. The feel of his beard scrapping over her sensitized skin as he trailed kisses down her body arched her up closer to his touch. When he slipped a finger into her wet folds, her fingers dug into the mattress for purchase. He slipped one then two digits in and drove her to the peak and then sent her over with his tongue.

Bass waited until she had come down from her orgasm before returning to reclaim her mouth with his. He grabbed her hands and held them up beside her head and whispered into her ear, "Charlotte…"

She said nothing with words, just communicated with her eyes. She cradled him in her body as he sank into her and found something he had lost long ago. Home.

Charlotte felt overwhelmed. She had started this to show Bass he could be loved. But he ended up showing her that she was loved. That was her last thought as they fell over together, before Bass collapsed onto her totally spent. He pressed his lips to the curve of her breast and she enjoyed his weight on her and just kept brushing her fingers through his hair.

Neither knew what would come next, but they didn't see how they could settle for anything less than everything now.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry this was a short update. But I'm pretty sure this is what a lot of you have been waiting for, so I hope you aren't too disappointed. I think I approached it differently than most writers out there b/c normally they sleep together out of insatiable lust or anger the first time. If you didn't think it worked this way, feel free to let me know. Also, thanks for all the cool comments about chapter 6. I'm glad everybody enjoyed Charlie taking care of her guy.

And to all my USA readers: Happy July 4th! Hope you have a safe and fun holiday.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 8_**

**Disclaimer: **Don't sue me, please. I'm only playing around with Sebastian and Charlie because NBC decided they'd outgrown them. (Fools. More for me.) I don't own Revolution or anything associated with it; which sadly, still includes, David Lyons. Even though IceonFire7 is still trying to get him to become my nurse. Sigh.

**A/N: **First, thanks to everyone who left kind words about Ch. 7. It means a lot. Second, this chapter went and ran away from me. It was supposed to be a little angsty with a good dollop of fluff. Instead these characters once again got all introspective. Damn it. But then I realized that's what my characters are doing. They are figuring out their own neuroses and demons by slowly understanding that they are in love with each other—for good or ill (and why it's probably both). The more I think Charlie opens up to Monroe, the less he can keep her at bay. He sees all these pockets about her that he wants to take care of in some way…So anyway, I hope you enjoy this. There is a bit of Bass' (and Miles') back story here and also, Charlie makes some pretty alarming declarations that shock Bass, which make him see her better and differently. She exposes her heart to him in an unusual way.

* * *

The plan had been to leave Shamrock at first light. That plan was shot to hell when the sun's rays woke Charlie up the next morning. She stretched and realized that Bass was wrapped around her. He had pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and their legs and feet were all tangled together. Charlie basked in the moment. She knew when Bass woke because his hands pulled her closer and he leaned down to kiss the crook of her neck. Charlie grabbed one of his hands and then feathered kisses over the knuckles.

"I can't believe it's so late," Bass murmured. The disuse of his voice made it lower, rougher. Charlie liked it. She liked his voice anyway. He could drive her crazy sometimes with simply the way he said her name. She liked that he called her Charlie; it was familiar. But secretly she loved when he used her full name. No one did so it felt more intimate. Felt his, theirs.

"I know. We should be gone by now," Charlie agreed. Neither felt particularly inclined to leave the bed. This space felt safe and comfortable and uncomplicated. Once they left their sanctuary all the reasons why this was inappropriate and why it could never happen again would come rushing back. They weren't quite ready to surrender what they'd found here just yet. Charlie turned over so she could see his face.

"Yes. But I never sleep this late. I'm an early riser, ever since basic training," Bass explained. "I can't recall the last night I slept all night."

"Me either," Charlie admitted. She saw the question in Bass' eyes. "Danny. He had asthma. I never slept a full night because I always checked on him, every hour. By dawn, it was easier just to be up. You know, that helped my hunting. I learned to move silently through the house to check on him. I never lit a candle so I learned to have good night vision and quiet steps."

Bass smiled at her. He loved when she shared these tidbits with him. He genuinely wanted to know Charlotte Matheson completely. Everything she shared was a piece of treasure to be savored. But the smile wavered quickly. Danny. There it was. It hadn't even waited until they were out of bed to rear its ugly head. Danny, Ben. Charlie would never forgive him for their fates. Not that he deserved it. He understood that. Bass had never meant for harm to come to either Matheson. Hell, he wasn't even the one who issued the warrant for Ben to begin with. That had been Miles. Of course, as years wore on and wars with militias and rebel groups continued, Bass had become desperate. He thought power would bring peace because who would foolishly fight a powered army?

Rachel coming in Ben's place had never been in the cards. Bass suspected he knew why it was Rachel who had shown up. She and Miles never could stay apart. Once, when he'd joined Miles for a small family reunion (during one of their leaves from the Marines) in Chicago, Bass noticed his brother and Rachel had disappeared. They'd reappeared later, clearly more mussed than before. If Ben had noticed, he hadn't said anything. Bass had felt bad for the eldest Matheson. While never as close to him as he was with Miles, Bass still felt an affinity for Ben. He'd always been good to—and tolerant of—Miles' and him growing up. Bass wondered if Charlie suspected that the relationship between her mom and Miles was older than a couple years. Older than even her. He'd never say because he couldn't bear to hurt her that way.

Rachel and Miles had played cat and mouse with each other for years. Still she never budged about the power. The only change Bass saw was Miles getting distracted. It had nearly cost him his life in Annapolis. Doctor's barely managed to save Miles' life. It had panicked Bass when word came that Miles had been wounded badly. He was his family and the thought of burying him made room for more madness to seep in. Bass had taken desperate action. Rebel bombings were happening—causalities, both civilian and militia, were piling up. Bass staged a bombing by Georgian troops where Rachel had been staying. In secret he had her moved up to what once was upstate New York. When Miles returned, Bass had broken the news to Miles and took him to a marker he'd had placed for her.

Miles had turned full-on General Matheson afterwards. His combat strategies were stellar and the fighting soon waned and they even took Baltimore (and the rest of Maryland) from Georgia. Miles had earned his title Butcher of Baltimore then. Later on, Miles had found Nora and he grew to really care about her. She softened some of the hardened edges of his heart. But he never went all soft; Miles didn't let his guard down again because he couldn't risk what happened to Rachel again.

But when Miles nearly died in front of Bass by a rebel bomb at the bar where they'd shared drinks for Miles' birthday, all darkness had taken over. He couldn't blame Miles or Rachel this time for his brother's near death. Though, Rachel still wasn't budging. If he couldn't overpower the bastards, he'd start making examples of them. He'd slaughtered the bomber and his family. Now Bass could see he'd gone too far. Fear and paranoia and helplessness were no longer blinding him. Looking back, that was the beginning of the end of everything. Him and Miles. The Republic.

A few weeks later, Miles dumped Nora. In hindsight, Bass knew he'd done it to protect her by breaking any ties between them as Nora left Philly and Miles behind. But that still hadn't stopped him, Bass thought with sick regret. He'd always liked Nora and thought she'd been good for Miles. His treatment of her was another regret he carried. Weeks after their breakup, Bass woke up to a gun at his face and best friends' abandonment.

Afterwards, Bass had existed in shock, cocooned by festering paranoia. No one was trustworthy because even Miles betrayed him. Power became key. Power would ensure victory. Power could bring Miles back because they wouldn't need brutal tactics anymore to subdue opponents. He sent out teams to find either Matheson brother, convinced one would lead to another. Standing orders were that neither was to be hurt. When Neville sent word that Ben was dead, Bass had felt despair. His chances of turning the power on were dwindling and he knew Miles would never forgive him—would blame him—for Ben. That troubled him even though he'd last seen Miles when he'd tried to kill him.

Danny had also been unexpected. Bass knew of the Matheson kids. Of course, in his mind, they were still toddlers like the last time he'd seen them. Bass had never intended to involve the children. That had been Neville's way of protecting himself by not coming back empty handed. But disgustingly Bass hadn't refrained from using them as leverage against Rachel. The image of Strausser with a gun on Charlie haunted him.

Bass pressed a kiss to the spot where the gun had aimed then rolled on his back away from her.

"Bass?" Charlie asked. There was confusion and the hint of hurt at the way he'd pulled away. Bass looked at her. No, he no longer saw her as that child. She was a woman. A better one than he deserved. This, them together, would cost her the rest of her family and he couldn't do that to her.

"It's nothing Charlie. Forget it. We should leave for Austin immediately," Bass said and then turned his back on her as he swung his legs over to sit at the edge of the bed.

"I don't think it's nothing," Charlie whispered. "I don't think this is nothing."

Bass winced at the pain her words brought. "No, Charlie it wasn't nothing." It was everything. "But it shouldn't have happened. It was a…."

"Don't you dare say it was a mistake!" Charlie snapped. She sat up on the bed, pulling the sheet around her.

"How could it not be?" Bass whispered. "Charlotte, who I was, what I did…"

"Exactly. Who you _were_. Past tense, Bass. Last night I was with you not him."

"But that's the thing. He's always here, underneath. That'll never change. That's why you and I…we can't. It isn't right. Your family would never understand. They'd turn on you."

Charlie reached out and traced her fingers down his spine. His back still had fading, white scars from Connor's whipping. "I don't know. It felt pretty right last night, Sebastian." Charlie could see the tremble ripple down his spine at her touch. He wasn't nearly as unaffected by her as he was playing at. It gave her renewed courage. He turned his head quickly at the use of his full name. She'd never called him that before. Her words inspired bitter hope in him.

"Charlotte, you don't know what you're saying. What the consequences will be."

"Do not dismiss me as a foolish little girl, Sebastian. You've never done that before. It was one of the first things that made me start to not hate you. Don't ruin it now because you're being a coward," Charlie snapped, insulted.

His eyes flashed at her words. "I'm not a coward."

"You're acting like it," she replied. She pushed up onto her knees, heedless as the sheet pooled there. Desire was a fierce, quick lash to his stomach. God, she was so beautiful. The most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Her light burned bright, so bright, yet he could not look away. He wanted to touch her, but was afraid it would break him. Maybe he _was_ being cowardly. But couldn't she see? Didn't she know? There was nothing easy about pushing her away. He loved her and wanted to save her…from him.

"If you don't want me. If you have no feelings for me than at least have the courage to say it to me," Charlie demanded. "Look me in the eye and tell me this was nothing."

Bass looked but couldn't speak. "You can't lie to me," she stated.

"You don't know me, Charlotte," Bass said and they both flashed back to the pool.

Charlie smirked. "Maybe I didn't know you that well then. But I know you better now. And if you ever stop being an idiot who thinks he knows what's best for me—which you don't—I'd like to get to know all of Sebastian Monroe. And for your information, I know that President Monroe is there. But I've come to learn he's only a part of who you are. Of course, I think you forgot that for a while."

"How do I make you see?" Bass whispered.

"See what?"

"This will never work. Whatever you feel now is going to fade. Especially when you get back around your mother; and it should. Charlie, I've hurt you. Your dad, your brother—"

"You know, Miles asked me the same thing before we left Austin," she interrupted. "I slipped and called you Bass and he had a freak out."

"What did you say?" he asked in a whisper.

"That it was never your intention to hurt my dad. That it was Neville's incompetence. Frankly, it was Neville who called the airstrike that killed my brother. I'm not absolving you of any responsibility but I can't realistically lay it all at your feet. I blamed myself for Jason but Miles told me it was really the Patriots who did it. I cared about him a lot and I didn't want to hurt him but I did. I chose myself over him in that room. I had to forgive myself for that.

"I've forgiven Miles for things he's done. Hell, Bass, my freakin' parents ended the damn world! My mom likes to never let you forget about Danny or my dad. But the thing is: How many other people's Dannys and Dads did she kill by allowing the power to go off? And for keeping it off for fifteen years? She never mentions any of that. It's always you're a monster.

"Maybe you were—or are. Whatever. But she's not a saint. Neither is Miles. Neither am I. I've killed. Why are our sins forgivable but yours are not? I don't think forgiveness is an absolution of blame. I think forgiveness is an acceptance of responsibility and the idea to go forward and do better."

"You're remarkable, you know that?" Bass murmured. He looked at her awestruck. It made Charlie blush, more than her evident nudity.

"No. I'm honest. My dad was just as guilty about the blackout as my mom. He didn't turn on the power either. He was a good man who made bad choices. And he made the same wrong choice every day for fifteen years when he refused to turn the power on. He tried to temper that by being good to everyone and showing kindness to them, but still, he made a choice every morning that he had to live with until he died. I mean, Maggie, a woman he loved, wanted nothing more than to return home to find her boys. He had the means to make that happen but never did. He denied her, believed his son was more important than hers, but still said he loved her."

"How old are you?" Bass said. "You are an old soul."

"I'm probably more emotionally mature than you," she agreed. "And my mom? My mom was never really my mom even when she was around. I was there to take care of Danny in her place. I was second place to Danny, because he was sick all the time. My mom made that same choice everyday as my dad did. I'm not talking about arming your stupid militia so it could kill everything in sight. But the power needed to stay off for Danny to live? But what about all the people who needed the power _on_ to live? How do you make that choice and live with it and look yourself in the eye?"

"He was her son. She was being a parent," Bass felt oddly compelled to defend Rachel.

"What if I needed the power on to live?" Charlie wondered. "How would she have made that decision? I've wondered that, of course. I've never asked, but I've thought it. I think that day in Philadelphia my mom wasn't struggling because she had to choose. I think my mom was struggling because she didn't want to admit her choice. I think she stopped Strausser not because she couldn't make a choice but because she couldn't live with having made one."

"Charlotte—" Bass said astounded. Charlie shrugged. Brushing off the weight of her words as if they hadn't settled like stones around them.

"It's okay. I picked Danny, too, remember?" she said.

He saw her jumping up and telling Strausser to kill her. "I remember."

"I can't blame her for that," Charlie said. "But then again, you weren't asking me to pick between her and my brother. So I had no burden of guilt by choosing. It was honestly freeing. I didn't figure we were going to live to set foot out of the room anyway. I figured if I died, my mom would never make the amplifier for you and I wouldn't have to watch Danny die in front of me. Unfortunately, I didn't get my way. Do you know that all the people I've loved and lost have all died in my arms? My dad, Danny, Maggie, Nora, Jason? Sometimes I think I'm cursed. Their blood is literally on my hands."

"I understand. Every person I've ever loved has left me in some way," Bass admitted.

Charlotte thought she saw then a little bit why he was pulling away from her. He was terrified of when she would leave him—by walking away or dying. She said it to him. "You're scared. You're scared what could happen if you let this count."

"When I lose people…I tend to go to extremes. With you…" Bass didn't know how to put into words the fear of losing her, the fear of her ultimate rejection placed in him. He had been so totally unprepared to love her; now he could do nothing but love her. But there was a piece of him that was scared of what he could do to her if she rejected him. The idea that he would hurt her made his insides crawl with deep-seated disgust. Charlotte didn't deserve that possibility hanging over her head. She deserved to be loved, treasured and protected.

"I'll say it again. If you don't have any feelings for me, if this was just a one night fling for you, tell me now," Charlotte demanded. "You owe me the truth of saying it meant nothing to you. Nothing to you at all."

Bass turned to her again and his eyes betrayed everything he was trying to keep inside. "Charlotte, it meant more to me than I can say. You mean more to me than you'll ever know."

"I think we need each other, Sebastian," she murmured, touched by his words. She traced a finger down the side of his face.

"What could you possibly need me for?" Bass said flabbergasted. "I'm no good for you."

"Stop telling me what's good for me and what isn't," Charlie said hotly. "And I need you to have my back. To trust me to take care of myself anyways. To respect me. To be my partner, which is what you've become. I need you to need me back."

"I do. God help you and me both. But I do need you," Bass said.

"Then don't demean what we shared. You don't want me to see President Monroe. But I understand the risk. As long as you can still be you, I don't care that he's there," Charlie told him. "I'm not perfect either."

Bass interrupted her. "That is where you are wrong, Charlotte." And he leaned into kiss her. Together they fell onto the bed. It wasn't until later, much later, they finally headed out of Shamrock, Texas.

* * *

**A/N: **So in the grand scheme of things, probably not the most romantic post-coital talk there ever was. Hehe. I swear that was never my intent but his thoughts wouldn't shut up and her mouth kept spewing these things out. But in some ways I think that is more true to them. I don't think they'll ever be a hearts and flowers kind of couple. They are wounded warriors who have found unexpected love. The more they lay bare who they are, the more romantic I think it is because both are really good at playing things close to the vest. Bass is scared to trust and when he sees her trusting him with pieces of her, how can he resist? Anyway, those are my thoughts. Please, please leave me yours. Thanks for reading. : )

Also, I have chapter 9 ready to post (has been for days). But I'm nervous as hell because it has a very controversial bit in it that probably will likely offend, at the very least piss off, some/most/all people. Once I work up the courage, I'll post it. And no, before anyone freaks out, Charlie and Bass don't die in it.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 9_**

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Revolution it'd be Relocated by now. 'Nuff said.

**A/N: PLEASE READ FIRST! **Okay, so this chapter kicked my butt. I wrote this just post-surgery. The surgery went fine but then afterwards everything kind of went to hell. I was very sick and had trouble getting this out. **_The second reason I had a hard time with this was the content._** There is definitely sensitive content in this chapter (not romantic angst); I worked very hard to not make it sensationalized in anyway. I'm not trying to glorify or diminish the severity of a horrible, national pandemic: But it does go into a hostage situation at a school. It is not explicit in anyway; I have no desire to go into that. The chapter focuses solely on Charlie and Bass.

If you still can't read that—and I totally respect that—read the first two paragraphs, scroll down to the italicized portion, and then read the last few paragraphs at the bottom for all your sweet Charloe-fix. By doing this you aren't missing too much (and the a/n at the bottom should fill in what you should have gotten out of reading the whole chapter.) I will say that no extreme violence is shown and only one casualty happened (not a child!) and all the rest were Patriots. More at the bottom for why I did this.

* * *

They rode Bass' horse together. It slowed their return to Austin considerably, but neither pretended to care. They existed in a vacuum, absorbed in each other. They spent hours telling stories; they spent hours in companionable silence. So many times throughout the day Bass couldn't resist leaning forward and placing kisses on Charlie's neck. She would lean back against his chest just to feel even closer to him.

When they could find places, they rented rooms. If not, they camped out under the open Texas sky. Either way, they always made love, before falling asleep and waking up wrapped up in each other. They tried not to think about what awaited them in Austin; parts of both of them wanted to bypass Austin all together. Forget the war and just find somewhere to be together. But they weren't those people.

Their bubble burst when they reached a small settlement several miles outside of Mineral Wells, Texas. Charlie had wanted to stop to see if they could replenish some supplies. From the outside the place was very removed from the prosperity of places like Austin, Abilene and Willoughby. It wasn't as bad as Pottsboro, so that counted for something. As soon as they entered the settlement the hairs on Bass' neck rose and he had an itch between his shoulder blades like someone wouldn't hesitate to bury a knife deep in his back. Instinctively he pulled Charlie closer to his chest and whispered, "Stay close to me, Charlotte."

Charlie had also felt the undercurrents of danger as they entered the settlement. She nodded as she dismounted the horse with Monroe.

"Can we help you?" a voice inquired. They had been approached by a man who wore a sheriff's badge on his chest. Bass looked around. The main drag of the town was littered with people, most of them armed in some way as if they were preparing for an invasion. There were several people also weeping—mostly women who were being consoled by friends and spouses.

"We don't want any trouble. We were hoping to find a drink for us and the horse and maybe replenish some of our supplies," Monroe said equably.

"I'm sorry to say everything in town is closed indefinitely," they were told.

"You mind telling us why Sheriff…?"

"Sheriff Flint. It's the Patriots. They've attacked us."

Bass looked around. For the life of him he could not imagine why the Patriots would want this just-above a piss-hole town. What the hell kind of strategy were they following? "Begging your pardon, but why?"

Sheriff Flint sober face turned mutinous. "The school."

"What school?" Charlie spoke up for the first time.

"We have a small school for people who live here and nearby. There is a group of about eight who stormed into the school this morning. They released the body of one of the teachers. One of the kids got out and told us what the hell is going on. We've got a hostage situation."

"Why kids?" Bass asked. This seemed like a desperate play. Not even at his worst had he laid attacked a school.

"We've heard tell of these Patriots kidnapping people. I sent out someone to ride to Mineral Wells to the Ranger post there," Sheriff Flint said. "We're a little by-the-way place and never expected this."

"It's because of that. It would be obvious if they targeted the big cities for kidnapping. But places out in the middle of nowhere: perfect targets for kidnapping," Bass said.

"I don't understand why they want to kidnap our children. We aren't a thriving place. What can we give them in exchange for hostages?"

"They aren't using the kids as blackmail," Charlie said, once all the pieces clicked together. "They want the kids. They are going to have them reprogrammed. They can't wait for people to volunteer like with Willoughby. They are just taking them."

Bass nodded. It pleased him that she would put two and two together. Not that he should have been surprised—which he wasn't—but it was always a relief to know your battle buddy was quick.

"Reprogramming?" Flint asked confused.

"Basically they brainwash your kids into being Patriot soldiers. They give them a number to activate their programming. They'll do whatever the Patriots tell them to."

"My God. I don't know what to do here. I'm waiting on the Rangers to show up, but…"

"By the time your rider reaches Mineral Wells and if there are any Rangers still there, it'll be long past nightfall before they even show up," Bass said.

"I somehow doubt these Patriots are going to wait patiently for that, especially if they are as bad as you say," Sheriff Flint said. "But opening fire on a school doesn't sit right with me either. Those are kids in there…and we could hurt or kill them. Hell, Patriots are probably using them as body shields."

"You also run the risk of not doing anything and more Patriots showing up to attack your town thereby diverting your attention so those in the school can get away with your kids," Charlie observed before suggesting, "So don't go at them aggressively. Sneak in."

"I don't see how that's possible without the Patriots seeing and then shooting at the kids," Flint said.

"How long have they been in there?" Bass asked.

"Since school started this morning. I'd say roughly six hours," Flint replied.

"Okay. Treat this like a hostage negotiation," Bass said.

"I'm going to lay it out for you. I'm the Sheriff but it's not like I went to any damn school for that stuff. This is stuff for the Rangers," Flint said.

"I'll talk you through it," Bass said.

"What the hell do you know about hostages?"

"I'm General Sebastian Monroe," Bass answered. "I have official papers from General Blanchard." He pulled the papers out and gave them to Flint to look at.

"Christ on a stick," Flint said. "I've got Patriots and a fucking dictator in my town."

Bass growled and Charlie placed a hand on his arm to restrain him. "Look, he's been given the okay officially by the Texas government and in fact Texas is asking for his help. If that's good enough for your Blanchard shouldn't that also be good enough for you?"

Flint blew out a huff of air. "I guess it's going to have to be. What's the plan General?"

Monroe glared a second longer before letting it go. It would be foolish to think that everyone would be okay with him once the pardon had come through. Besides, if he were honest, he'd been a dick the last years of his presidency. He may not be directly responsible for the bombs (though he felt indirectly responsible for falling for Flynn's crap) but he was guilty of a lot of other things.

"First tell me about the layout of the building," Monroe said. Flint described the building. It wasn't actually an old school, but a converted apartment building. Kids in this area used to be bussed to other places for schooling pre-blackout. The building was laid out in an L-shape. There were three sets of stairs, one on each end plus the center. Only one end had been converted into a school; the rest was in a state of disrepair—gutted for anything to be used for supplies at the school. The population size plus the limited amount of supplies they'd been able to scrounge from nearby places had necessitated only half the building be converted. Part of the downstairs of the school had been converted into a small cafeteria for the kids to use on rainy days. There was a small kitchen space across from the cafeteria. All the classrooms were upstairs. Walls had been knocked down to make more spacious rooms for classes. There were over a hundred students from kindergarten through high school. The primary grades were on the east end of the building and all the high school classes were on the west end. A library divided the two ends.

"Talk to the Patriots. Tell them you have a bunch of worried parents around," Bass looked and saw hosts of people milling around the main drag staring off into the distance at the school. "This Texas sun is a bitch and it's hot. I'm betting those kids—and those Patriots—are all thirsty and hungry. Just say the parents want to bring some drinks and food to their kids."

"But how is that going to get us into the building? I highly doubt they'll let us serve them," Sheriff Flint scoffed.

"Draw their attention to one place and have people sneak in through the other side of the building," Charlie explained. Bass smiled at her. The way she could read his mind after only being around each other for so little always amazed him. Of course he was worried about her going into the building—which he knew she would insist upon. He doubted saying anything would gain him anything other than a pithy remark. Not that he was surprised; his girl had the heart of a lion. Unwittingly his gaze shifted down to the militia mark on her right wrist.

* * *

_They were curled together under a blanket, their two bedrolls laid out together. He knew they were taking a risk being together like this outside. They should be taking watches but Bass couldn't resist her. Charlie consumed every thought. He wanted to lose himself in her, over and over. But what surprised him most was that really he was finding himself in her more and more. It was like she was an archaeologist and his soul was the site of her dig. He wanted to help her find more pieces of himself that he could be proud of, more to give her than just the man who had ruined her life. _

_Nevertheless, as much as she absorbed his senses, Bass' reflexes were like a cat's. He heard every rustle of the leaves or snap of a twig. He noticed everything that might be a danger to her. It amazed him how consuming this had become, and how fast. Maybe it was because they'd resisted it for so long. Maybe, just maybe, if they hadn't it would have burned out quick and disappeared. That thought gave Bass his only relief that they had waited; otherwise he'd let himself regret not being with Charlie sooner. _

_He had so many things he wanted to say to her but he didn't think she was ready to hear them yet. Truthfully, he probably wasn't ready to say them either. But he felt them there; kind of bubbling under the surface. He was forcing himself to restrain them because he didn't want to push her away if he revealed the intensity of his feelings for her. _

_He was brushing the inside of her right palm with the fingers of his left hand when they swooped down and brushed the militia brand on her arm. He could withhold his need to confess but he couldn't contain his curiosity anymore. "How did you get this?" He swiped his thumb over it for emphasis._

_To his surprise Charlotte began to softly laugh. "You'll never guess."_

_"__No, probably not," Bass agreed. He didn't see the humor in it. The mark had been put on all the militia soldiers, so he didn't necessarily understand why the mark on her brought out such conflicting reactions in him. On the one hand it was a physical reminder of all the things he was responsible for that hurt her. On the other, probably even more demented side, there was a visceral reaction. It was like she was his and this mark made it so. Declared for everyone that she was off-limits. He wanted that to be a reality but he knew that he could make no such claims on her. He would enjoy their time, for as long as it would be, for as long as she would allow him to have her. He would always be hers, regardless; whether she knew that or not didn't change its truth. _

_"__I got it trying to save one kid from a conscription boat," she said. "I let myself get captured. What I hadn't anticipated—and probably should have all things considered—was that Lieutenant Slotnick –or Smalldick as I thought of him—was a crazy son of a bitch. He beat a kid to death because he wanted to go home," Charlie said. "I knew then that I couldn't leave any of those kids behind. I made a scene, got taken to the infirmary. But Smalldick suspected I was a troublemaker and was watching me. He captured me and then branded me. Let me tell you—it hurt like hell and I was pissed. The last thing I wanted was the militia mark on my arm."_

_"__I imagine," Bass murmured, more disgusted with himself than before. _

_"__Anyway, Miles and Nora came and got us after I'd been locked in a cage. Smalldick met the end of my pointy sword and all the kids were released off the boat. You also had a lot of dead militia soldiers rotting on your boat, by the way," Charlie said. _

_Bass grabbed her chin so he could get her to look him in the eye. "Charlotte, I didn't know. I knew about the conscription boats, obviously, but I had no idea that there were people in my militia doing things the way this Lt. Slotnick was."_

_"__I believe you," Charlotte said to his surprise._

_"__You do?"_

_She shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, Bass if you didn't see how out of control __you__ were how were you going to notice anyone else?" _

_"__Fair point well made, Charlie," Bass whispered as her words hit home. _

_"__I'm not saying that to hurt you or be mean. But it's true. You were completely off the rails. I don't know what drove you that way and why it only got worse instead of better. But if you can't see yourself in your own mirror how can you see your reflection in someone else?" Charlie wondered. _

_"__I guess I was deluding myself that we were helping. All we wanted was to help. That's how the whole damn thing started," Bass said, his voice ripe with self-hatred. "But we weren't helping at all."_

_"__I was young when the blackout happened. I remember some things going to hell and I was nearly killed by a man for our food. Maybe in the beginning it started out okay—but maybe whatever sickness was in you permeated its way down. And Miles was in charge of the militia for a long time. He's as much responsible for their cruelty as you." _

_"__I bet you could fill us in on all the ways we went wrong," Bass said with a slight smile._

_"__Of course I can," Charlie boasted and gave him her wide grin. "Some time I'll have to tell you about how I almost froze to death in the mountains trying to hunt for food because of the garrison."_

_"__Excuse me?" Bass said taken completely off guard._

_"__Another time," Charlie said and pecked his lips with a quick kiss. "I'm beat. I'm going to sleep. Don't brood too loudly tonight, okay?" Then she promptly rolled over, drew his arms around her and fell asleep on his arm. _

* * *

The ruse worked. The front door to the school, beneath the library windows, saw four women carrying trays to be left just inside the door. As they were doing this, Monroe and Charlie snuck around the other, neglected half of the building. The Sheriff had wanted to join them but Monroe told him it would look suspicious if he wasn't out front watching as the food was left to keep an eye on the volunteers. All around were the men and women who had drawn their guns on the building this morning after a student had escaped and told them Patriots were in the school. Everybody was in their same positions as to not alert the Patriots anything was up.

Monroe picked the lock on the entrance. Thankfully, it was at the very end of the building and was blocked from sight of the school. Once the lock was opened, Charlie went in low and he went in high. Both were flashing back to the last time they'd hunted down Patriots in a school. Bass suppressed his panic when Charlie took the stairs to the upper level. They didn't think Patriots had gone to this side of the building, but nevertheless they swept through each room just as a precaution. He knew she could take care of herself. She came back down moments later, meeting him at the end of the long corridor that ran down the center.

"It was all clear," Charlie whispered. "We ready?"

Bass had picked the lock waiting for her to come back downstairs. He wanted to tell her to wait here and let him take care of the Patriots. But she'd never listen and just get pissed at him. He wanted to say so many things but kept them to himself.

Or he thought he had. Charlie had read all his unspoken thoughts in his eyes. They floored her. But she put them away. She needed to focus on the Patriots and making sure none of the kids got hurt. They snuck in through the door. It entered in through the kitchen. Clearing the room, they stepped out. A Patriot was keeping watch in the hallway outside the kitchen. Bass waited for him to walk past the open doorway before quickly and stealthily slitting his throat. He caught the body and dragged it inside the kitchen to keep it out of sight. They passed the cafeteria: it was empty except for some broken glass and the body of a dead Patriot. Apparently someone had taken shots that morning and killed one of them.

Up the stairs, Bass repeated it with the guard there. Charlie peeked around the stairwell into the main hall that ran the length of the second floor. There was one other guard down at the end by the other staircase. She loaded her crossbow and stepped out to take the shot. Her movement caught his eye but the arrow landed in his throat before he could make a sound. However, the sound of his body thudding on the floor drew the attention of another Patriot. He stepped out of another classroom and she dropped him with an arrow through his temple.

They waited but apparently no one else heard anything. They entered the hallway, sweeping left and right when someone opened fire on them. They took cover in an empty classroom. Bass peered around the door and saw into the library. He ducked back when Patriots shot back at him. He stared at Charlie and then turned back around and took fire. He nailed one of the Patriots between the eyes.

Charlie looked around the room and saw another door. She opened it and it led to the next classroom, the one the second Patriot she'd taken down had come from. "Monroe, I'm moving over there. Cover me." Then she slipped into the room without waiting for a response and then took her own gun out, discarding her crossbow because it took too long. The room's location meant the Patriot had probably been keeping an eye on the back of the school. Thankfully from the angle of the windows, he hadn't been able to see her and Bass approach the abandoned side. She saw that the front door of the classroom had been left open. From this side of the room she didn't have a good vantage point. She needed to be on the other side of the doorway. She blew out a breath and then dashed across hoping she wouldn't draw attention to her location. There was one shooter by the door who was firing at Monroe. He hadn't noticed her. She took aim and dropped him. There should be only one Patriot left based on what the student had told them.

Charlie looked out the door and saw Monroe was looking down her way. They both nodded. They could handle one Patriot. They heard a skirmish from inside the library and both moved to see. When they burst through the door, stepping over the two dead Patriots by the door, they saw a tall, dark skinned teenager now aiming the Patriot's gun at his head. The Patriot was unconscious. The kid had a busted lip but otherwise looked unharmed. There were a few kids his age that looked worse for wear. Apparently they'd charged the last remaining Patriot. The rest of the kids were huddled in a circle in the room. The older kids had surrounded the younger ones like a shield.

"Christ, there are no words for this shit," Monroe muttered.

"You the cavalry?" The kid with the gun asked.

Charlie chuckled. "I guess. But you seemed to have done just fine on your own here."

"Can we go home now?" asked one of the younger kids and the others chimed in.

"Sure thing. C'mon. Your parents are all waiting downstairs," Charlie told them and the kids stood up to file out and rush downstairs to their parents. As they went Charlie took stock of them. No one appeared to have been hurt. "Where are the other teachers?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't let them in here with us," the teenaged boy told them. He hadn't left with the others, but kept the rifle trained on the Patriot.

"Go on downstairs. Your parents will be worried. We'll take care of this asshole," Monroe said. He marched over and took the gun from the kid. Charlie left and searched the remainder of the floor. She found a locked door. She repeated what she saw Bass do to open it and then swung it open and swept left to right with her gun. The teachers were all huddled down on the floor, tied up. Charlie released them and then returned to Monroe.

"Teachers were locked in a small closet," she told him. She held some of the rope she'd taken off the teachers. "Let's tie him up and take him with us."

"Son of bitch needs to be gutted alive right here," Monroe snapped. "Stealing kids? Holding them hostage? What the fuck?"

"I agree. This is another new low for Patriots. Which I didn't think they could sink any lower than trying to gas everybody in Willoughby while attending a children's concert," Charlie said. "But he could have information which could prove helpful to stop them."

"Yeah. But still…"

"I know. I don't think his questioning should be done politely either," Charlie said.

The ever beautiful and kindhearted Charlie Matheson—who hated to kill unless she had to—had just said she was okay with torture. It clenched his heart to see these Patriots were dimming her light a little. That they were damaging her in some way. "First thing, though," Bass said and bent down and held the guy's mouth open. He looked until he found the cyanide tooth and then ripped it out.

The dragged him down the stairs and outside. They threw him down on the ground near the sheriff and where most of the townsfolk had gathered. "He dead?" Flint asked.

"No. His companions are. This guy we're going to make sing like a bird," Monroe said and gave a dark smile that sent a cold shiver down Charlie's spine. There was President Monroe, right now, front and center. "He's going to tell us everything he knows about the Patriots and their plans and any spies they got in Texas. I'm going to make this son of bitch rat on his own grandmother."

It happened quickly that Bass never saw it coming. Sheriff Flint pulled his gun and shot the Patriot in the head and then grabbed Charlie around the throat as a shield. He held the gun up to her temple. Bass fought hard to squelch the overwhelming fear at seeing Charlie exposed to another gun. "I'm afraid I can't let that happen, General." Flint started walking backwards. "Anybody makes a move on me and I'll blow her head off right here."

"Let her go!" Monroe demanded, his gun now trained on the guy. He was afraid to take the shot. He was a sharpshooter. But he couldn't risk hitting Charlie. The fear of hurting her overwhelmed him even as the unmitigated bloodlust raged in him demanding to spill Flint's blood.

"She's going to ride with me. No one follows us," Flint said. His arm was wrapped tightly around Charlie's throat that it was almost cutting off her air supply. Her hands were fighting against his arm so he didn't choke her. She had a knife in her boot if she could just get to it.

"I will kill you," Monroe declared. He knew what the guy intended. He'd use her as a shield until he was far enough away, kill her, dump the body and meet up with his stupid Patriot buddies. "You will never run far enough away. I will hunt you down, every day for the rest of time, until I find you. I will dismantle you piece by piece, until your mind is unhinged and then I'll really start to hurt you. "

His arm squeezed tighter on Charlie's throat. She knew she needed to make a move soon or she would pass out. With all her might she rammed her elbows into his gut and slammed her head back into his nose. The gun went off and Charlie felt a splatter of blood hit her. Somewhere in her mind she heard Monroe scream for her. She reached down and grabbed the knife and in one movement turned and buried it into Flint's stomach. Blood gushed from his mouth, joining the blood running from his nose after she'd broken it.

Monroe was there in seconds, holding her and simultaneously running his hands over her desperate to find out if she was hurt in anyway.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay," she repeated to him as he searched. "It's not my blood. It's his."

Monroe stared into her eyes and saw she was telling the truth. He looked down at the already dead sheriff and then pierced her with a President Monroe glare. "I'm very pissed at you now Charlie."

"Why?" she asked. She hadn't done anything.

"Because you've denied me the pleasure of killing that bastard for daring to hurt you," Monroe said and then claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss. Charlie realized she was being kissed for the first time by President Monroe. There was an odd, scandalous thrill to it. But then he morphed, right beneath her lips, and it was her Bass kissing her and there was something even better and more thrilling about that.

* * *

**A/N: **I needed something to show how deplorable the Patriots were and how desperate their actions are. And why the need to swiftly defeat them is imperative. However, if you are a watcher of Revolution you shouldn't be too scandalized by this. 1) On the show, the Patriots used mustard gas—twice, including at a children's concert. 2) They nuked Atlanta and Philly's entire population (including kids) 3) They used diseases like Typhus in Nazi-style society "purification." 4) They lured young adults and teenagers into these reprogramming centers with lies. At these camps they beat them, starved them, drugged them, tortured them and locked them in barrels. This is pretty damn disturbing to me.

I didn't think it was too much of a leap to assume that the Patriots would also steal the kids to be reprogrammed (like the conscription camps of the Monroe militia). It hadn't been addressed in the show, but it seems plausible to me. That said, the reason I bring it up is for two reasons: it plays into a later plot point (that's not that far in the future) and also further helps Monroe come to terms with reclaiming the republic. He's starting to see it's a necessary monster, but also, starting to see how careful he has to be to avoid all his past mistakes. Maybe Monroe didn't know that there were Lt. Slotnicks in his militia conscription camps. Maybe he did. It's my understanding that the militia was generally out of control. Of course, Monroe had Strausser so I'm not entirely sure how in-the-dark he was but I played it like he didn't fully know how out of hand his entire militia had become. Mainly b/c I don't like to think that he knew and was okay with it (and Bass never seemed one for cruelty. Ironic. I know.) I like exploring his redemption.

But fighting against the Patriots as they use means similar to his old ones, while also trying to balance his Jekyll and Hyde nature, is a delicate balancing act for Monroe. He _wanted_ to torture that Patriot and he _wanted_ to kill Flint; but he also, _desperately_, wants to protect Charlie from all of that stuff. What I hope this chapter did by laying out the two scenarios (present/flashback) is that Monroe is in a healthier place—that Charlie helps him that way, while also conversely inspiring President Monroe to come out just to keep her alive. He's trying to figure out how to do/be both. She's also learning to live with both. But he sees how screwed up the Patriots are. A sick Monroe might have just shot wildly into that school because he hated the Patriots so much (like when he locked his hometown in a burning building or wanted to use the mustard gas.) Instead, he did the "good" thing.

Anyway, that's my _really long_ note. I hope it helped you understand my reasoning (and summarized what you may have skipped over). I kept all sensitive stuff to a minimum and the plan all along was that those kids would be freed, unharmed by Monroe and Charlie. But if you still really hate it I understand. I hope you will carry on with the story because I'm not the type of person to do something like this just be a sensationalist. It really served a purpose for my story as a whole. If you don't, I understand. Thank you for reading and now please, let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 10_**

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything Revolution-wise. Am willing to enter into a timeshare for David Lyons, if anyone is interested.

**A/N: **First, thanks for all the positive feedback on chapter 9. It kind of felt like all my worry was for nothing, but I was sincerely worried about offending people. Second, this is a shorty. It's a follow up to chapter 9. It's very heavy on dialogue (which is different when all the others are heavy on exposition). But Bass and Charlie lay some things on the table and reveal more of their feelings to each other. Note that the way I wrote the dialogue…it's tends to ramble because in my head they were rambling. Actually, Bass was rambling because there were all these things that were just boiling under the surface after the incident with Flint. So it's not clean, precise dialogue for that reason. It's emotional and disjointed and ramble-y. Kind of like this A/N which I will now conclude. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review. They are so encouraging for me to keep writing. : )

* * *

The barkeep gave them access to a room above the bar. Bass took her up and then filled a bowl with water and used a cloth to wipe the blood from Charlotte's face and hands. His fingers traced the darkening of her neck where Flint's arms had bruised her.

"Bass, I'm alright," Charlie assured again. His hands were trembling as he worked on her.

"I can't…" Bass tried to speak but words failed. There was this storm swirling in him and he just didn't know how to either stop it or ride out the storm. He stood up abruptly and paced in front of her. She said nothing as she watched him. When he stopped, she was addressed by President Monroe. "I want to resurrect him just to kill him. He held a gun to your head. He threatened you. He tried to take you away from me. And I just want…I want to hurt something so bad." He resumed pacing and then punched a dresser then swore.

"Lots of people have held guns to my head," Charlie told him. "_You_ held me a gun point."

That stopped him. He swung back around like he couldn't believe she had said it. But the look on her face was defiant, radiant in her fearlessness. Part of him wanted to be offended that she put him in the same category as Flint and others. But he also knew he deserved it.

"Do you ever want to hurt me?" she asked.

Nothing she could have said could take the wind out of his sails faster. President Monroe deflated into a wounded Bass. "No," Bass answered forcefully. Her words hurt; just knowing she thought it sliced his guts open. He was surprised she didn't comment on all the blood that must be pouring out at her feet. But it was his fault she feared it. The blame was his not hers. "Do you think I do?" He barely managed to utter the words.

"I don't think Bass does. But I wonder about President Monroe. He's the one who had Strausser hold a gun to my head, nearly pulling the trigger. Then he worked with Neville after he _did_ pull the trigger."

"There is no excuse about the way I've behaved. Charlotte…" _But please forgive me anyway, _he thought but didn't say. He had no right to ask her for anything. All he could do is accept whatever she gifted him with of herself. A piece no bigger than an atom was more than he deserved and more precious than any gold or gem in the world. She was the best thing to ever be his and she wasn't even really his. But God how he wished her to be. "I was sick in the head when Strausser threatened you."

"He was about to pull the trigger when my mom stopped him. If she hadn't, would you have?"

A lump formed in his throat. But he refused to lie. "I don't know. I'd like to think I would have but I can't be sure. I do know it had nothing to do with you. You were marvelous in that moment. A big, beautiful flame of light protecting your brother. I respected that loyalty. I had done the same for Miles. I couldn't keep my eyes off you." Bass decided that it all needed to be laid out on the table, every sick twisted truth. "There was a part of me—the worst part of me—that wanted to see if you'd be that courageous in the actual end or if you'd flinch or back down. But it wasn't really about hurting you. It was about hurting Rachel."

"And Neville?"

"Was a reflex reaction to Miles' betrayal again. Frankly, yours too. That was what that look was about when you stepped out of the door. You've had my back for a while and I never suspected you to play me that way. But it was inexcusable and honestly I'm glad Miles stopped me from using the mustard gas. That—that's what President Monroe would have done. But it hurt that the only way he could get me to stop was by tricking me. Except that I know that it was the only way to stop me." He raised his hand to his head in frustration. "_I get that_. I would not have listened to anything Miles would have said to get me to not do it. Miles—Miles doesn't keep me from going off the rails that way. I'd have told him he'd let Rachel get to him.

"And forgive me, Charlie, but your mother doesn't always have the best influence on Miles. You don't know them like I do. You haven't seen—the years and years with…" He was rambling, all these things just stirring and pouring out and the fire was still in his eyes. President Monroe hadn't totally vacated the premises yet. "But damn it was _the way he tricked me_. He used our friendship—former, current, what the hell ever. He used that against me because he knew he could. Christ, it was like waking up to a gun pointed at my head all over again."

Fed up, he dropped heavily down on the end of the bed. Charlie felt like a sea of emotions had swept over her. Bass was deep, troubled waters. She understood that he could drown her. But there could be beauty at the surface. She wasn't talking about his looks; though, he obviously wasn't ugly. He had this raw sexuality, this alluring confidence about him that drew everyone to him. His eyes were the bluest blue she'd ever seen. And his smile—his smile sometimes took her breath away. That full one had startled her that day in the pool. She'd never known him to have a smile like that. Now, though, sometimes when they were riding and she'd look back at him, or if they were stopped somewhere eating or staying in town sharing food at a bar or just anything at all and he'd look over at her and sometimes, not often enough to make it common, but sometimes he'd give her that smile and she'd just stop. Stop thinking, breathing.

There was something in knowing that that smile was for her that empowered her. Charlie didn't understand how or why but she knew she had some measure of control over Sebastian. He'd never be tamed. Not really. He would always be an untamable beast. She didn't want to destroy him. There wasn't hate enough in her heart to wish that anymore. She'd always, always hate the things he'd done or were partially responsible for, but he wasn't that man anymore. Or not always.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," she murmured.

He laughed darkly. "Unbelievable. Unbelievable."

"What?" Charlie asked confused.

"You are apologizing to me. Charlie, you have nothing to apologize for," Bass said. "After everything I've done. I deserve everything you could ever send my way."

"No. That's not true. I don't believe that," Charlie argued. He turned to look at her and his expression clearly said he thought she was being foolish. "If you were still him, still doing those things, then yes I agree. But you've changed. You're trying to do better. That counts for things, Bass. It has to. If the bad counts than the good has to count too. It's not fair to use you as a whipping post until the end of time. Because all that means is that people can never change, ever. No one can make mistakes and ever hope to do better the next time. Granted some mistakes are worse than others. That just means they have to work harder and longer at doing better. At being better. And sometimes people can't change or refuse to, whichever it is. But that doesn't mean _no one _can change. But saying that I can treat you like crap whenever I damn well please because of my dad or Danny is cruel of me. That makes me no better than President Monroe. I won't be him. I'll never be him."

"You make me not want to be him," Bass confessed. "I…I get so confused sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I need to be him to protect you because that's all I want to do." He cut off her mutinous look. "I know you don't need me to but that feeling is there nevertheless. But I hate being him also because he's a reminder of all the things I did to hurt you. I can't bear to hurt you, Charlie. You have to believe me on that. Please. Please believe me. I'm terrified I will; I'm terrified someday I will want to. It eats me up inside and I want to push you away to spare you that. But I'm already horrible for you because I can't seem to actually push you away. I can't let you go. I need you Charlie. I need you for so many things."

Charlie crawled down the bed and then onto his lap. She held his face in her hands. "Do you ever think that maybe you can't push me away because I won't let you?"

"It's not fair to you," Bass whispered.

"Bass, if ever the day comes that I don't want this anymore or that I want to stop whatever it is that's going on with us, I will tell you. Trust me I will let you know. So unless you change your mind before I do, stop trying to make decisions for me. I know my mind, I know myself. I know my…"

"Heart?" Bass said softly.

"I'm working on it. But I know without a shadow of a doubt I will let you know if I ever want things to change." Charlie leaned down and nibbled on his lips. "I almost died today, you know." His hands squeezed reflexively on her hips at the reminder. She felt his jaw flex as she kissed him. "You know what would make me feel absolutely alive?"

"What?" Bass said roughly.

"If you were to put your hands on me and your mouth on me," she said as she reached down and pulled her own shirt off. "I'm alive, Bass. Show me that I'm alive."

Bass could deny her nothing and he did as she asked.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 11_**

**Disclaimer: **I have no affiliations with anything Revolution. This, unfortunately, includes David Lyons. Boo. : ( Coincidentally, I'm still in the market for him to be my nurse.

**A/N: **This is more Charlie and Bass, still wrapped in their blissful bubble, and still learning to navigate these crazy waters they've found each other in with the other.

* * *

They were a week from Austin when they stopped for food and rest. Technically they could've traveled further and camped later. But getting closer to their destination had both of them dragging their feet to delay Austin and all the complications it brought with it. They've relished their bubble and the freedom to be together. After the incident in the school, the townsfolk had given them food and supplies as a thank you for saving their children. This had included a new horse for Charlie. Neither was thrilled because they both loved the intimacy the constant contact on Bass' horse had brought. It had also cut down on their travel time so they grasped at any reason to stop.

* * *

_"__This is too beautiful a place just to pass it by," Charlie said before dismounting her horse. They'd found a beautiful copse near a river. Gorgeous wild flowers sprinkled across the river bank in shades of red, purple, blue and yellow. "I need a bath. Care to join?" Charlie said._

_Bass knew he should say no. That one of them should stay on land to keep watch but he found his compulsion for her outweighed common sense. Especially when she slowly undressed before him then she slowly sunk into the water. She would have chattered her teeth but the cool water was a nice break from the unrelenting Texas sun and humidity of today. She looked back over her shoulder, her hair in waves cascading down her bare back and Bass felt his heart stop. She was so breathtaking. Bass decided his whole life had been lived to lead him to this exact moment with her. Damn if he'd waste it._

_He undressed and grabbed her precious bar of soap. Bass met Charlie in the water and began to wash her with the soap. He brushed down every curve and contour of her body until Charlie had all but gone limp in his hands. He washed her hair and then held her gently so she could lean back to rinse. As she lay completely trusting in his arms, he leaned down and kissed her. Her hand came up to cup the back of his head, dampening his hair, pulling him closer. She whispered his name against his mouth. Always undone by her brief surrenders, he drew her up to him. He was aroused by her and couldn't wait. The need to be joined with her too great. He thrust into her, grabbed her ass to push her down onto him. Charlie fused their mouths together. Bass pumped hard and deep into her but it wasn't enough. He carried her to the river bank, laying her beneath him, pulled her legs up for greater penetration and continued to thrust into her. Charlie made this erotic mewling sound and ran her hand all over him before grabbing his ass to pull him closer. Bass followed her unspoken direction and pumped harder and faster. He reached between them to touch her, sending her flying around him. He couldn't hold on anymore, "Charlotte…Baby, oh…" and he bottomed out against her cervix. Her orgasm milking his to the end. _

_Bass knew he was crushing her but couldn't find the will to move. With a heartfelt groan he pulled out and off her before collapsing next to her on the ground. "Let's just stay here for the next ten or fifteen years. Just long enough for my legs and lungs to regenerate themselves," he suggested as he struggled to control his breathing. He couldn't recall being so overtaken by lust even as a teenager. The need to mate with her had been primal. Christ, she made him a horny teenager again._

_"__Sure thing _baby_," Charlie said, equally breathless._

_The endearment made him blink. Charlie didn't use endearments for him. "What did you say?"_

_"__Sure thing baby," Charlie repeated._

_"__You called me baby," Bass observed._

_Charlie fought to suppress her laughter. "You called me it first," she made sure her voice sounded accusatory. Stunned, Bass thought back until he recalled the slip while he'd came. He felt awkward. He didn't know if their relationship ran towards pet names but in his head he sometimes referred to her that way. Bass wished fervently that he was dressed so he could shove his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't give into the need to fidget. _

_"__Oh. Well. I only…"_

_Charlie burst out laughing, delighted with him. Bass glared at her. "Oh, Sebastian. You're adorable when you're embarrassed." _

_"__I'm not embarrassed," Bass said stubbornly._

_"__You're practically blushing," Charlie gloated._

_"__I am not." He hoped to God he wasn't. That'd just take the cake. Suddenly full of energy Charlie rolled herself onto Bass and hugged him through her laughter. "I'm crazy about you, Sebastian."_

_Her words were like a one-two punch to his heart and solar plexus. From Charlie they were tantamount to a declaration of love and it halted everything: thought, breath, heartbeat. Smitten and unmistakably moved, he fought to school his reaction so he didn't frighten her. He plastered a smirk on his face instead of the dopey grin that wanted to breakthrough. "Brat."_

_Charlie was not offended despite the sneer he gave her. He cannot lie with his eyes. "You like that about me."_

_"__I like a lot of things about you, Charlotte."_

_"__You know, I didn't mind. You calling me 'baby' I mean. It just surprised me and I couldn't resist yanking your chain."_

_"__Again, I repeat: Brat."_

_Charlie shrugged, unapologetic. _

_Bass once called another woman that, a lifetime or two ago. Shelley. That brought old horrors fresh in his mind. "We need to be more careful. I have to stop coming inside you," he declared. _

_Charlie noticed the change in his eyes. They'd been bright with humor and affection then they'd darkened, taken on a haunted look. As if he was no longer seeing her but ghosts instead. But his declaration surprised her. She didn't understand the correlation between it and the pained expression he wore. "You're just thinking of this now?" Charlie asked._

_Panic speared Bass in the gut. "Charlie are you…?"_

_She shook her head no. "You know that tea I drink every day? It's something Maggie taught me so I wouldn't become pregnant until I wanted to. She taught me different ones, depending on the ingredients I have available. That's why I always want to stop by a town every few days, so I can restock my supplies." _

_"__I didn't know," Bass confessed._

_"__Maggie told me a woman had to always look after herself. Of course, she made me play nurse for every delivery and that was enough to convince me I didn't want kids."_

_Bass felt his heart clench. A part of him that was brave enough to dream of a future with Charlie pictured them together with kids. He'd love to have a chance at being a dad again. To experience everything he'd missed out on twice. He could only picture Charlie as the mother of his children. But Charlie was a lot younger than him. It was understandable that she wouldn't be ready and that she'd never want his kids anyway. That would tie them together permanently. "Ever?"_

_Charlie shrugged again. "I was already Danny's mom. I spent my entire childhood taking care of him. That didn't end up so well. I don't think I'm the best candidate for parenthood. Besides, why risk bringing a kid into this world when there's a chance you can leave them on their own? Why do that to a kid? This world is ugly and cruel and dangerous. I could die tomorrow or ten years or fifty years from now. Or I could die in childbirth, which is a horror there are no words for believe me. So I've brought a kid into this world and then I leave them. I've been the kid left behind. I don't want to do that. So why risk it?" _

_Her words were like a million knives piercing him, stunning him into speechlessness. Monroe's horrid mind gave birth to a new, unspeakable nightmare: Charlie, belly rounded with their miracle, dying in front of him in a sea of blood. He'd never survive it again. Not with Charlie. His love for her was the deepest he'd ever known because she had seen him at his very worst and she still learned to care for him. If what she felt for him came anywhere close to love and even if it only was a fraction of what he felt for her, hers was the greatest love he'd ever known because neither Emma nor Shelley had seen the darkness of his soul. He doubted they'd have ever been able to care for him. They'd have feared him only. Charlie had never been afraid._

_But Monroe knew fear. He feared losing Charlotte the way he'd lost Shelley. He prayed he would never outlive Charlie. He'd never out live her for long, but a heartbeat would feel like an eternity. "I think you're wrong. I think you'd be an amazing mother. Your heart is too beautiful for you to be anything but," Bass said._

_He knew he should tell her about Shelley and the baby but couldn't make the words come out around the fear still freezing him inside. She should know. She deserved to know the moment her worst nightmare had been created. He owed her the truth even if the memories threatened to overwhelm and drown him. She'd anchored him thus far. Bass would cling to her and hope she would stop him from getting lost in terrible memories. _

* * *

"We're looking for a place that rents rooms," Charlie said to the bartender.

He gave her the once over and clearly liked what he saw. Bass' eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Rent 'em here. 'Course only have one available right now on account of the wedding. Lots of people in town for the festivities," he explained.

If he undressed Charlie with his eyes one more time, Bass was going to rip the orbs out of the guy's head. Bass snaked a possessive arm around Charlie's waist. The gesture clearly said _Hands off, she's mine_. "That's okay. We only need one," Bass said.

The bartender backed off and then rented them a room. Bass thought he gave them a bargain out of fear. Bass hadn't argued about it.

They each took turns bathing in a tub too small for them to share. Afterwards they ate the food they'd brought up from the bar before making love and falling asleep. They were awoken later by the clanging of the church bells. Startled, Bass jumped out of bed and had his sword at the ready. Amused, Charlie laughed as he stood staring, waiting for imminent attack. She slipped Bass' shirt on and then walked to the window. "Easy, soldier. It's just the wedding. Don't behead the bride, the groom might be displeased."

Bass walked over, heedless of his nudity. To the east, at about two o'clock, they could make out a church. A wedding party was climbing into wagons, carried off beyond their line of vision. "Unbelievable. Who throws a wedding like that, especially during a war?" Charlie asked.

"Pre-blackout that would seem small to some of the elaborate affairs people used to hold," Bass informed her.

"Ridiculous," Charlie scoffed.

Bass laughed. "Would you rather elope?"

"I'd rather not get married. It's silly and pointless these days," Charlie replied.

"My, my. Aren't we cynical?" Bass mocked.

Charlie shook her head. "What does it even mean? Does it mean anything at all in this world?"

"It means love and commitment."

"I've never seen that in marriage."

"Your parents…"

Charlie scoffed. "Please. My mom left us and never came back. Maggie and my dad were happy together but of course were never married."

"I'm sorry—"

"I didn't say it to listen to you apologize _again_. I said it because it's true. We could have kept running, avoiding your militia. Moved beyond the Republic. Do you know I can't figure out why, if they were both trying to hide from you, did we continue to live in the Monroe Republic?" Charlie asked him before carrying on with her previous point. "She made a choice to leave. Sure, you should've let her go, but no one forced her to go. I begged her not to leave and she acted as if she heard none of it. And my parents fought a lot. I mean they worked together to protect Danny and me. But I remember listening to them argue. Adults think just because they aren't yelling kids won't know they're arguing. They're wrong."

"My parents had a good marriage. I can't recall them bickering at each other overmuch. They were happy until the day they were killed."

"My parents weren't happy. I remember once when I woke up at night. They weren't yelling but a kid's intuition that her parents weren't getting along had me sneaking out and sitting on the stairs. I heard my parents say maybe they needed time apart. My _mom_ said it, actually. But then the blackout happened and I never heard them bring it up again. Until my mom told us she was going away."

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Bass said. The more Charlie revealed to him about her childhood the more he concluded she hadn't been given much of one at all.

"Do you remember TVs?" she asked apropos of nothing.

Bass smiled. "Of course. Why?"

"I remember loving the stories and pictures. I'd get absorbed in them. If Danny wasn't feeling well, we couldn't do anything. We had to stay inside where Danny would be safe. I would sit for hours watching TV because it helped me forget that I couldn't play like I wanted to and that my parents were pretending to get along." She looked at him with a sad regret in her blue-gray eyes. "I guess that was awful that I wanted to forget them sometimes. Especially when I'd eventually lose each of them. I'm not a very nice person."

Bass pulled her close into a comforting embrace. "That makes you human, Charlie. You don't think my parents and sisters didn't drive me nuts sometimes? And still part of me died with each of them."

"How did…how did they die?" Charlie was hesitant to ask.

"I lost them all pre-Blackout. They were on their way to see a movie when a drunk driver moved into their car lane. They all died at the scene."

Charlie's heart broke for him. "I'm so sorry, Bass."

"It was two years before the blackout but I still feel it today." It was a sentiment Charlie understood. Bass decided to jump into the deep end of the pool and finally confess. "I was married once." Charlie looked at him in surprise. "Well, we were whatever passed as marriage by then. It was three years after the blackout. Her name was Shelley. She was sweet and kindhearted. I loved this innocence she had about her. I loved her very much and wanted to build a life with her. She became pregnant and we were so excited. We were naïve. Everything appeared to be going well and I stepped away for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds. Then Shelley's screaming like she's being murdered and this former nurse who was acting as a midwife was calling for more towels and water. By the time Miles and Neville came back with them, Shelley and our baby were both gone."

Charlie wept silent tears for him. Bass wondered if she even knew she was crying. But he needed to tell her who she was actually crying for. "That was the night President Monroe was created. I went unhinged and led an attack on another camp. We killed everyone. Their deaths created a monster."

"What went wrong?" Charlie asked. She felt like she was being crushed by the waves of his grief. She sat down on the bed but continued to look at him.

Bass shook his head. "We don't know. It wasn't like before where we could have done an autopsy to see. The nurse said maybe if the power had been on there may have been a way to save at least one of them, but she didn't know for sure."

And then he'd become obsessed with power, Charlie realized. More pieces were clicking into place about Sebastian Monroe. No wonder power seemed like a cure-all.

"My family died two years before the blackout. My wife and child died three years after. Now you know," Bass said. Charlie gave him a puzzled look. "Now you know what kind of monster I really am. The worst kind: a hypocritical one. Losing my family sent me over the edge but it didn't stop me from destroying your family and others'. You are my brother's family and I just ripped you all apart. So don't cry for me Charlotte. I don't deserve it."

"I could hold it against you forever. And I won't lie; there may be a piece of me that will always hold you responsible for Danny and my dad. But I also know I wouldn't have lived beyond Pottsboro without you. Or the tower. Or many other times. So I also have to hold you responsible for that."

Charlie took a breath and plunged ahead. "Bass, I don't know if it'll ever be a finite thing or if forgiveness is something you choose to do every day. I think for me it's the latter," Charlie said. "Bass, look at me, please." He did as she asked. "I've already decided for today just as I had yesterday and countless days before that. Today, I forgive you. And I like forgiving you, Sebastian. I like the way it feels to forgive you. So try forgiving yourself today too Sebastian."

Now he had tears in his eyes. That made Charlie sad, so she decided to lighten the mood. "You do realize you've confessed all this to me, standing naked in front of the window?"

Delighted with her, he played along. "That's because some brat stole my shirt."

"Well if you want it back, come and get it," she said with an impish smile.

He couldn't say the words yet; she wasn't ready to hear them, he knew. So he showed her all night that he loved her.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. I got a concussion the other day and I haven't been able to even look at a screen without feeling nauseated. This has understandably slowed down my writing b/c I can also barely focus on piece of paper. I've got more plotted out but I have to start on fifteen. Sorry to those who reviewed the last chapter: I truly, truly appreciate it and they really make my day to get them but I obviously have been a little under the weather. I'll try to reply at some point. But I woke up without a pounding headache today (YAY) and decided I'd take this little reprieve to post rather than reply. I figured you'd rather that anyway. Anyway, thanks for reading and now please review!


	12. Chapter 12

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 12_**

**Disclaimer: **I have no rights to Revolution. But NBC did kind of leave it out on the front yard; I just assumed I could pick it up and take it home. So don't sue. You want to put it back on the air—anywhere—and I'll hand it back to you. Except, maybe, David Lyons. What's that? Revo won't be the same w/o him? Well, fine. But I'm only leasing him out.

**A/N: **They finally get their butts back to Austin! General Walnut!

* * *

They were an hour's ride from Austin when Bass pulled his horse up short. Surprised, Charlie had to turn around because she'd kept riding. She looked back at Bass and he had a cacophony of emotions playing on his face. He was terrified, he was angry, he was remorseful and mostly he looked agonized.

"What's up, Bass?" Charlie asked as she pulled her horse up next to his.

"I don't want to go back to Austin," Bass said. "I want us to keep riding together, find a quiet little place and just stay there. Forever."

"Why?"

"Because I know when we get to Austin I'm going to have to be General Monroe. For a bunch ten-gallon jackasses who tried to kill me for once being him. They'll want me to become President Monroe for their purposes, but when it was for mine I was a war criminal. I don't know how Miles is going to be around me," Bass explained. "And mostly, because once we get to Austin this is over."

"What's over?" Charlie asked.

"This. You. Me. Us. Whatever. It'll be done. And I'm not quite ready to say good-bye." Bass admitted. His voice shook with emotion.

"Who said that?" Charlie inquired.

"Be realistic, Charlie. Your uncle, dear God, _your mother_, will never stand for this," Bass said. "I won't survive ten minutes after she learns about this. That is, hell, if you even want them to know."

"Are you terrified of my mother?" Charlie asked.

"I've seen her stab a friend in the heart with a screwdriver to save her own life. I saw what she did to Strausser with a hammer. Yes. Your mother is terrifying when she wants to be and she already has reasons to hate me," Monroe confessed, unabashed.

"Wow, I didn't know that," Charlie admitted. "But I'll protect you from her."

Bass scoffed. "I'm pretty sure she'll just steamroll you. And Miles will be there to hold her coat."

"I'll handle both of them," Charlie said unconcernedly.

"You will?" Bass asked. "You mean you want to tell them?"

"Are you trying to dump me again?" Charlie asked.

Bass chuckled slightly at her wry tone. "I just don't know what to expect here. I mean I know what to expect from Rachel and Miles, but not you."

"I thought I told you that if I wanted things to change I would let you know," Charlie reminded him. "Have I said anything to you about it?"

"No," Bass answered.

"Then stop being a damn idiot. Now can we please get going?" Charlie asked.

Bass nodded and they started moving again. Charlie reached out and grabbed Bass' hand. "Don't worry about my uncle and mother, Monroe. I've got your back."

This time Bass let out a hearty chuckle. "I think you probably are more terrifying than your mother."

"Damn straight," Charlie agreed. "And Miles—well, don't tell him this but he's kind of wrapped around my finger a little."

"What makes you believe that?" Bass tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Because I'm the only one he hugs," Charlie said and Bass laughed. "But he'd never admit it and he certainly bitches about everything I do. But he's got a soft spot for me. I'm pretty sure I can talk him down. Besides, he hasn't been able to kill you yet. Don't worry."

"I wasn't sleeping with his niece then," Bass reminded her. He added silently to himself, _Who is possibly his daughter_.

"I'll tell him I seduced you. You had no choice."

"You talk about sex with me and Miles will have an aneurysm," Bass told her. Now Charlie laughed. "Well, it'll be fun watching his head explode."

"Exactly," Charlie agreed. "Now stop trying to breakup with me. If anyone is going to breakup with anyone, it'll be me."

Bass said nothing. He was forced to agree. He was running out of reasons to keep pushing her away even when he knew it was for her own good. No, if this was going to be over he realized that it would have to be Charlie to end it. He just didn't have the strength it would take to walk away from her. He also didn't see how he'd survive her walking away from him either.

* * *

They returned to camp and left their horses to be attended to. Neither of them sought out quarters just yet. Rather, they went in search of Miles. In the several intervening weeks between their departure and return, the labyrinth of the camp had expanded. Clearly Blanchard had been calling in more squadrons from the Ranger companies. However, he could only drain them of so many men. They were fighting on several fronts: Mexico and the Patriots coming up from the south as well as from the north and all the Patriots that had wormed their way into the Texas nation.

Miles was sitting on a chair outside his tent, sipping on a whiskey. "Good to see some things never change," Charlie greeted.

Miles smiled at her, clearly pleased to see her. "Hey, kid. Glad to see you finally got your asses back here. We're fighting and you guys were sightseeing."

Charlie looked guilty at Monroe, who didn't look remorseful at all. They had certainly taken more time than was strictly necessary after leaving Shamrock. But damned if she wouldn't do it all over again. All that treasured time alone with Bass. He'd come to mean so much to her. More than she'd ever come to expect. He opened up to her; she to him. She hadn't been lying when she'd told him they needed each other. Whether it was for good or ill she didn't know. It just was.

"So where is the prodigal son?" Miles asked when no one took his bait. He looked around as if they were hiding Connor behind their backs.

"He's not here," Monroe said. His voice held no inflection. "C'mon let's go see Blanchard." The topic was closed. Miles looked questioningly between them but Monroe was a stonewall and Charlie only shook her head slightly. Miles expression clearly said, _Well, shit_, but he let it go.

Blanchard was in his office at the capitol building. Generals Monroe and Matheson were ushered into see the high commander of Texas and its Rangers. Frank Blanchard was a big, imposing man with white hair. His rotund stomach showed above the rather large mahogany desk he sat behind. "Generals," Blanchard said by way of greeting.

"Frank," Monroe said.

"Safe trip, I take it?" Blanchard inquired.

Bass resisted rolling his eyes at the wasted pleasantries. "We managed. Though we did come across a problem you're not going to like."

"Shit, Monroe. I've got enough problems," Blanchard growled.

"Well then one more ain't gonna kill ya, is it?" Monroe shot back.

"Who's she?" Blanchard demanded, finally noticing Charlie who stood a step behind both Miles and Monroe. She wasn't really sure why both Miles and Bass had insisted she come along. She wasn't anyone important, just a grunt.

"She's my niece," Miles said. "She was there in the church, Frank. Her name's Charlie."

"She'll be a lieutenant in the new militia," Monroe declared. Everyone turned to give him incredulous looks. Of course, Charlie's edged towards plain fury. She was never going to be a member of the militia. The mark on her arm meant nothing to her for that.

"Excuse me?" Charlie said. The derision was palpable in her voice.

"You heard me. It's necessary. You're going to be with Miles and me. The men will need to know to respect you. You'll need a rank," Monroe explained as if that put an end to it.

"He's right," Miles said reluctantly. "You're a fighter. But soldiers only respect other soldiers. You can hate it all you want, but it'll save you a lot of hassle out there with the troops."

"But…but I _haven't _earned the title!" Charlie argued. "I'm not even a member of the militia. You're just roping me into this whether I want it or not."

"Join the club," Miles and Bass said at the same time. They each exchanged a significant look between them and nodded.

Bass turned to look Charlie fully in the eyes. "Haven't you earned it, Charlie?" He shared with his eyes what he couldn't say with his words, _It's a way to protect you Charlie because soldiers can be bastards when they've been at war too long and lonely in their beds for as long. _She said nothing to argue the point further.

"Now that we got that problem resolved. Tell me about this new problem you got for me," Blanchard said blandly.

"We came across Patriots taking a school hostage to kidnap its children," Monroe relayed.

"What?" Miles sputtered.

"Shit!" Blanchard swore.

"What happened?" Miles demanded.

"The Lieutenant and I laid out a distraction and then snuck into the school. We killed the Patriots and got the kids out. None of the kids were hurt," Bass said. "Or not seriously. Patriots didn't make it out so lucky. We tried to keep one to get information out of but we didn't have any luck."

"Cyanide tooth?" Miles guessed.

Bass shook his head. "Nah. I ripped it out of the bastard's mouth. No, he was shot by the sheriff."

"Didn't you tell him you wanted the guy for intel?" Miles said.

"Gee. Why didn't I think of that?" Bass said sarcastically. "Of course I did. It's why he shot him. He was a plant, just like they had in Willoughby. My guess, Blanchard, is that is your second new problem. Trying to figure out whom the hell you can trust and who you can't. The sheriff played it straight until he realized that we were going to make the Patriot sing like a canary. My guess is that he let them into the town but kept his cover. When he realized it was going south, he killed the guy and then tried to escape by threatening Charlie's life."

Miles spun around to inspect Charlie for any evidence of harm. "I'm fine, Miles. I killed him."

"Good for you, girl," Blanchard said and looked at her with new respect. "But Monroe I'm getting sorrier and sorrier to see your ugly mug. Any-fucking-thing else?"

"We were ambushed at one point around Abilene. They came at us from the side of the road," Monroe informed. "We killed them all. They shot down Charlie's horse which is why we took so long getting back," Bass added and looked at Miles significantly.

"Did you get hurt kid?" Miles asked.

"No."

"She got cut up by some shrapnel but we cleaned it and it healed up fine," Bass informed. Charlie shot him a mutinous look but Bass shrugged indifferent.

"Christ, I knew I should never have let you go with him," Miles said.

"It wasn't up to you," Charlie told him simply.

"So is that it? Or do you want to tell me anything about these stupid robot things Rachel Matheson blathered on to me about with that four-eyed geek?" Blanchard interjected.

Charlie spoke up. "Actually, we learned something about that as well. I believe that Neville has been taken over by the Nano like Priscilla was."

"Oh, that's just fucking terrific," Miles said.

"Worse yet."

"Christ on a stick!" Blanchard said hotly. "I'm going to kick you all out of my office if you don't knock it off. You're starting to remind me why I retired in the first place."

"You lose anybody recently?" Charlie asked enigmatically. "Say a really important prisoner?"

Blanchard narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you hear about that?"

"Because Neville is joined by both Edward Truman and President Davis," Charlie said.

"I want a drink," Blanchard muttered.

"That's the best thing I've heard since we walked in," Miles agreed. Then he proceeded to help himself to the liquor that was in a glass cabinet in the back of the room. When Blanchard started to argue about Miles helping himself, Miles cut him off. "You made me a General again, Frank. You owe me the finest bourbon known to man for the rest of my damn life. So suck it up."

"Yes, let's get to that part, please," Bass agreed. "What the hell is all this about being Generals again?"

"We are more outgunned than we thought we were," Blanchard admitted reluctantly. "The citizens of Texas aren't sure who to trust so they don't know whether to sign up for the Rangers or for the Patriots. Carver really screwed us over with that godforsaken treaty. What kind of damn idiot just signs over an entire town to a foreign power? He gave them the okay to occupy Texas and now the citizens don't know what's what."

"And this has anything to do with me how?"

"Because we need more soldiers. We're fighting but we're not getting as much civilian support. We are definitely gaining—and with more stunts like that school—we'll have them all on our side in six months. The problem is, as you well know, a lot can happen in that time. And the Patriots aren't just kicking at Texas. They are spreading out throughout the damn continent. I'm pretty sure they've got most of what was Georgia under their thumb. They are making inroads into your old stomping grounds.

"And Lord knows that unless Governor Affleck wakes up she's going to find herself governing nothing as the Patriots take over all of the California Commonwealth," Blanchard griped. "That means that by the time she realizes the Patriots are her problem too, she's going to need all her troops to defend her own country. That leaves the Plains war tribes—and we've made a couple inroads there—but there aren't as many as there were. That leaves you and your militia. That's assuming you two fools don't manage to screw it all up again."

"I'm surprised that Texas is endorsing a 'war criminal' to return to his post," Bass said scathingly.

"Look, that was all Carver—not me. So cut the bullshit," Blanchard said. "The truth is Monroe, you were out of hand. Did I believe you dropped either bomb? No. First of all, unless everyone forgot everything pre-blackout, I don't imagine they let some piss-ant in the Marines know the launch codes for nuclear weapons. As far as I can recall, only the very upper echelon of Washington had access to those. People like this self-proclaimed President Davis, who—and even though I'm old I ain't senile—I remember worked for the D.O.D. All that did was tell me that these Patriots were full of crap from the beginning. But no one wanted to listen to a retiree. But they're listening now. And I never once thought for a minute you'd nuke your own damn backyard. What the hell would that point be—even for someone as crazy as you?"

"Thanks, I think," Bass said dryly.

"You did some stupid stuff. Let a lot of stuff go to your head. Your buddy over there even tried to kill me but that's war and I know that," Blanchard admitted. "I'm taking a gamble that the two of you can keep your acts together. You managed to drum up a militia and build an entire republic in less than five years after the blackout happened. It's that kind of ingenuity and skill we're all going to need if we want to beat these Patriots."

"Your vote of confidence is really overwhelming, Frank," Miles said blandly and then helped himself to more of Blanchard's alcohol.

"Shut-up. I'm gambling on you both. The truth is it's a risk even thinking your militia is still there and that they'll even follow either of you," Blanchard said bluntly. "You deserted them and Monroe went off the rails. Not to mention M.I.A for the last year."

"If they're there, we'll get 'em," Bass assured. His voice never betrayed a touch of doubt. Charlie rather thought Blanchard made excellent points. Soldiers would be hard pressed to follow two men they believed deserted them. She wondered how dangerous this game really was that Miles and Bass were playing at.

* * *

**A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who is reading this story and leaving reviews. Reviews are so wonderful to receive! So please let me know what you think. And if you see anything I'm getting wrong or mistakes that need correcting let me know. I do all my own edits and I'm pretty strict but no one's perfect. **

**Side note: If anyone is interested in talking about your favorite Charloe fanfics, IceonFire7 had the great idea the other night on Twitter during our weekly Charloe rewatch (join if you haven't!) about using a board at fanforum dot com. She's trying to rally new members and organize a time for people to meet up to chat about all our favorite Charloe stories. I know I have a HUGE list (so many talented writers in this fandom) and I bet everyone else does too. If you're interested, join up at fanforum. **


	13. Chapter 13

**_Poison and Wine _**

**_Chapter 13_**

**Disclaimer: **Doesn't belong to me. Unfortunately.

**A/N: **We got some Miles/Charlie and Miles/Monroe. Platonic only, people. Platonic only. Plus angst. And Charloe. Of course. Thanks to everyone who is reading my little story—and an extra special thanks to those who take the time to leave a review or message me. That really brightens my day!

* * *

They were on the street near the capitol when Miles pointed them down a small alley. Charlie and Bass followed, unsure why Miles wanted to pull them away. Neither had gotten the inclination they were being followed. He didn't leave them hanging. He spun around and glared at them. "What the hell is this?"

Bass looked around. "A crappy alley in crappy Austin?"

"Don't get freakin' cute. Something is different between you two," Miles snapped. "You were practically making goo-goo eyes at each other."

"Goo-goo eyes?" Bass said with derision.

"I will knock you out," Miles said, eyes narrowed.

"Miles, stop it," Charlie interceded.

"Charlie, tell me right now that nothing is going on between you two," Miles demanded.

Charlie shook her head. "I can't."

Miles closed his eyes for ten seconds, opened them and then punched Bass square in the jaw. "You stupid son of a bitch! I told you to keep your damn hands off her!" He went in for more punches. Bass let him have a few before he started blocking them. Bass raised his arm to hit Miles in return.

"Miles stop it!" Charlie said and tried to force herself between her two guys. However they kept shoving her out of the way. She just couldn't imagine her life without either of them. She prayed neither would ask her to choose. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Like fuck he didn't!" Miles snapped. Charlie finally jumped in between them and both men dropped their fists immediately unwilling to hurt Charlie even accidentally. "Get out of the way!"

"Not until you stop acting like a goddamn moron," Charlie said. "Stop it. Stop it and listen to me."

Miles clenched his fists but kept them at his side. Nevertheless, Charlie kept herself planted firmly between Miles and Bass. "It's not what you think," Bass tried to explain. He swiped his hand over his bloodied lip.

"It seems like you've put your hands on my niece!" Miles bit off. "_My niece_!"

"I put my hands on him," Charlie announced. Miles' face went slightly purple with the declaration. "I was the one who started it."

"I'm sure he put up one hell of a fight," Miles said sarcastically.

"Actually, he did. He tried to push me away. He's tried to end it," Charlie said. "But I won't let him."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because I don't want to," Charlie said simply.

"Jesus H. Christ. You're going to send your mother back over the deep end with this." Miles ran his hand through his hair in agitation. He was now utterly thankful that she and Gene had returned to Willoughby and wouldn't be back for a while. "She went ballistic when she learned that you went on the road with him without a word—thank you for that. She about took my head off—literally."

"Well it's really none of her damn business, is it?" Charlie shot back.

"She's your mother."

"When she wants to be," Charlie said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Miles asked.

Charlie sighed and turned around to face Bass. His face was a mask of stone. But his eyes—his eyes showed all the torment inside of him. "Can you give us a minute?"

Bass' hesitancy was plain on his face. "Charlie, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"_I'm _not going to hurt her," Miles spat at him.

Bass' jaw set at the accusation. Charlie saw how Miles' words hurt him. She placed her hands on his arms and ran them up and down in comfort. She ignored Miles' sickly groan behind her. "It'll be okay. Just give us a minute."

"Fine. I'll go get a drink," Bass said and turned around and left them alone.

"Charlie what in the hell are you thinking?" Miles asked.

"I'm thinking that I care about him. I'm thinking that I like how I feel when I'm with him," Charlie admitted.

"He's a charmer. I'll give you that. He's also a notorious womanizer," Miles told her. "He's never been serious with a woman since…"

"Shelley?" Charlie supplied and stunned Miles with her information. "Yes. He's told me about her. We've actually been very open with one another."

"He really told you about Shelley on his own?" Miles asked. Charlie nodded in confirmation. "My God."

"What?"

"Bass doesn't talk about Shelley and the baby. After they died, it's like he fenced it off somehow. It just wasn't ever discussed," Miles said. "Like he never wanted to think about them again."

"He thought about them. Maybe too much. He thought of them and he went a little further insane," Charlie admitted.

"Did he tell you about his family?"

"How they died in a car crash? Yes. He said you stopped him from killing himself," Charlie answered.

"Maybe I should have let him," Miles said mutinously.

Charlie glared. "You don't mean that. You never could kill him, Miles. Please stop pretending that you still don't love him like a brother. You need him as much as he needs you."

"That was before he ever laid a hand on you!"

"I already told you. I seduced him," Charlie informed him again.

Miles went a little green. "Please in the name of all that's holy do _not _talk about your sex life." He gave a genuine shudder.

Charlie smirked at him. "Well then stop getting upset about it. It's clearly none of your business."

"I just don't understand, Charlie. You know all the things he's done. How can you even want to be around him?" Miles asked.

"What about what you did? I'm pretty sure the title 'Butcher of Baltimore' had little to do with actual butchering," Charlie reminded. "I know what he's done. But what about what he's trying to do now?"

"I know my plate is heaping with sins. But I've tried to protect you from them," Miles said.

"So does he. The fact is Bass has saved my life numerous times. He's put himself at risk when he didn't have to," Charlie answered. "He's trying to do good."

"He's a dark pit," Miles said.

"Bullshit. You had the power to resist anytime during those years. You didn't. And then you just ran. It's not like you turned over a whole new leaf and dedicated yourself to righting your wrongs," Charlie reminded. "No. You hid in a bar in Chicago and tried to drink yourself to death. You say you know how guilty you are, but you certainly weren't trying to make things better. Not until I showed up and got you to very reluctantly leave to help me."

"Yes. And my life has been so wonderful since you showed up at my doorstep." Charlie just grinned at Miles' sarcasm. She knew he didn't mean it and therefore took no offense.

In fact she put her tongue-in-cheek and said, "You're welcome."

"You're still a brat," Miles said, eyes narrowed at her. Then his face relaxed and he huffed out a breath. "I can't pretend to understand."

"He understands me. I tell him all these things and he never judges me," Charlie said. "He's the only one who knows what it's like to lose everyone you care about." At Miles' pointed look she added, "Yes, I know the irony. But you don't know what he's done to try to do better."

"What's that?"

"He gave up his son," Charlie told him and stunned Miles so much he had no pithy comment to make.

"What did you say?" Miles' incredulity was evident in his voice.

"It's so complicated," Charlie admitted and feared she was breaking a confidence.

"Tell me."

Deciding that Bass' brother should know what he was going through, Charlie risked Bass' future wrath. "Connor found Bass—I mean after you sent him off with Davis. He was with Neville and Scanlon. Connor wanted to kill Davis so that Texas and California would destroy each other and make it easier for them to take over the entire country. But Bass didn't. Then Connor stepped out of the way and let Neville and Scanlon both try to kill him."

"Holy shit," Miles swore.

"Yeah. Bass' own son turned on him and still he showed up at that church to back your play again," Charlie said. "Then when we were on the road we found Rangers who delivered his pardon and your letter." Charlie paused and looked Miles directly in the eye. "We found Connor, by the way. And when we did, you know what Bass did?"

Miles shook his head.

"He said goodbye. He told him he loved him and that he'd always be there for him and he walked away," Charlie said. "He never once told him about his pardon or that Texas wants to help him reclaim his militia. He realized that all Connor wanted was the power, not a family, and he let him go. He told me he knew that Connor would be a bad influence on him. So you tell me, does that sound like a man who cannot change?"

"I had no idea," Miles admitted.

"Of course not. It's so much easier to judge him. To blame him. To blame him for all of your crappy choices," Charlie scolded. "He's not perfect but I don't know anyone who is. He wants to do right by you. When you put your trust in him, Miles, you flipped a switch in him. Please don't turn away from him now because of me.

"I…I _really_ care about him. He's so worried that he's going to cost me my family but it's been _eating_ at me because I know the truth. I could cost him his only family left and that's you," Charlie said, her voice breaking. "He needs you. Please don't abandon him again. Please don't ask either of us to choose."

"You really do care about him," Miles said in awe.

"More than I can say," Charlie admitted and Miles understood her meaning. She couldn't say it but she loved Bass.

"He's so much older than you," Miles pointed out.

"That doesn't matter to me. I forgive him every day—as I forgive you and my mom," Charlie told him. "Please don't hurt him. You'll only hurt me too."

"How long has this been going on between you?"

"We've only been together since after we found Connor weeks ago," Charlie told him. "But I would be lying if I told you that there hasn't been something between us before that."

"And what about Connor? Your mother told me she thought you and him were seeing each other."

Charlie shook her head no. "Connor was a mistake I made because I was jealous and angry at Bass. As far as Connor, he used me as a way to test how far his father would stick with him."

"The little prick," Miles said hotly.

Charlie shook her head. "My reasons were hardly noble either. I mean, I wasn't trying to be manipulative but I was lashing out and that's not much better."

"You really want him?"

"I do," Charlie said.

Miles gave an aggrieved sigh. "I'm not sure I get it. I doubt I'll ever be okay with it. I mean, he's my best friend and you're my niece and that's all kinds of weird for me. But I won't get in your way either. It's not like I have any right to judge who someone is with."

"Thank you," Charlie said. "And FYI, my mom and my uncle being together could be kind of weird for me too. But I didn't get in your way."

Miles nodded. "Understood, Charlie. But speaking of your mother—you will be the one to tell her. And I will not be there. Understood?"

"Coward," Charlie taunted but nodded. "I know. I can handle her because it won't change what I want."

"Yeah, well I'm sure you'll have a blast watching your mother's head spin around in a circle as she vomits out pea soup," Miles said dryly. At Charlie's confused look Miles shook his head. "Forget it."

"You should go find him," Charlie told her uncle and his face showed his agitation.

"Do I have to?" Miles practically sulked.

"Yes. You really hurt him with the things you said," Charlie said. "I mean, you punched him" – Miles interjected "He deserved it" – "And then accused him of practically molesting me and saying he'd only hurt me. He fears that, just so you know. It eats him up just the thought of hurting me. So you need to apologize because you don't know everything about Bass. And also, he is slowly bleeding to death in the absence of his son and he sure could use his brother right now."

"Do you know that it's still not any less annoying when a know-it-all brat tells you what to do?" Miles informed her. And then he marched grumpily out of the alley. Charlie just couldn't resist and called out to her uncle.

"Try not to hurt him anymore. I want to be able to have my way with him later."

Miles turned around and gave her the dirtiest look he'd ever given her. He also looked simultaneously like he was being tortured and wanted to vomit. "You say that shit to me again and I will shoot you both."

"I love you too, Miles!" She screamed out when he'd turned the corner. She thought the sound of his laughter drifted back to her.

* * *

Miles found which bar Bass had settled himself in. He very much wanted to avoid this conversation but Charlie had made him feel guilty. It was such an annoying habit of hers. Miles definitely wanted a drink—or several. But he wanted to do it in his tent where he could sulk about the fact that his best friend and brother was now his niece's boyfriend. And as much as that creeped him out, Miles also knew that Charlie was right. Bass was hurting now and it was partly his fault.

It didn't hurt that he knew he was going to need more liquor than he had back at his tent. So where better than a bar to have a reluctant heart-to-heart? Besides, he'd put it all on Bass' tab. Served the asshole right.

Bass was sitting alone at a table with a partially consumed bottle of whiskey his only companion. The chair scrapped across the bar floor as Miles took a seat.

"Listen, I'm flattered but I'm not interested. Leave me alone," Bass said.

"Huh?" Miles said and drew Bass' attention.

"Sorry. I thought you were this chick that's been hitting on me since I got here," Bass explained. "She was ruining my buzz."

"Never known you to turn down the advances of a pretty woman," Miles noted.

"I've got Charlotte."

Miles scowled. "Yes. I've been made aware."

"Do you want me to apologize?" Bass asked.

"Would you mean it?"

"I would mean the part about it bothering you but I can't be sorry for Charlotte, Miles. I just can't," Bass confessed.

"Why my niece, Bass?" Miles asked.

"I was keeping my distance, okay? I knew—hell, I _know_—it's wrong and screwed up and grossly inappropriate," Bass admitted.

"If you know that why did you allow her to…you know?" Miles said. He just couldn't use the word "seduced." He'd rather swallow his sword.

"Charlotte is so beautiful. I mean, she's undeniably gorgeous," Bass said and Miles glared at him. "But you know what's truly the most beautiful part of her? Her heart. She's so full of kindness and goodness and forgiveness. She has this light about her that I can't resist. She makes me want to be a better man."

"My God. You're in love with her," Miles realized.

"I love her more than words can say. I know you think I'm only going to hurt her but I'd rather die every day for the rest of time than hurt her in any way," Bass told Miles. "She's…everything."

"She told me about Connor. About what he did and then what you didn't do when you found him," Miles admitted. "Why'd you do it?"

"You said you trusted me. I didn't want to ruin that," Bass admitted without shame. But Miles felt the shame of once again doubting him. It wasn't particularly kind to only put faith in someone to carry out your own needs.

"Why didn't you pick up your son and ride off back east?" Miles inquired.

Bass took another pull of whiskey and shook his head ruefully. "Charlotte of course." At Miles' bewildered look, Bass explained. "In Philly Strausser forced Rachel to choose which of her kids would be killed first if she didn't make me my amplifier. Rachel refused. But Charlie jumped up and stared down that sick son of a bitch and the barrel of his gun and told him to shoot her," Bass said. "It was the most remarkable thing I'd ever seen. She was sacrificing herself to save the world from me."

"Sounds like something Charlie would do," Miles agreed. "She's always doing stupid shit."

"Yeah well, Charlie and I found Connor in this bar and I just couldn't…. I realized I can't risk him near the power of the republic. I can't risk being around him with that power. Charlie was willing to lay down her life—how can I not give up my kid to do the same thing? Besides it's not like he really wants to be around me anyway," Bass said regretfully.

"I guess I should be thankful that Charlie went with you because you probably wouldn't have thought of that."

"Probably not. She's…she's a compass for me. All things point to Charlie and that has to be good," Bass said. "I know it's not good for her but she's good for me."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad about that. I hate to put that on her but heaven knows I sucked at being your moral compass. The fact is I've used Charlie as one for a while," Miles admitted.

"I figured that out. You know when I said I didn't know what had happened to you? I was implying it was Rachel but it was really Charlie. No offense, but Rachel's hardly a beacon of good choices," Bass said and Miles cuffed his arm. "Charlie brought out this change in you. She did the same for me."

"Rachel is going to kill you, just so you know. I'm not getting in the middle of it," Miles said.

"I know. But Charlie's worth it." Bass said unequivocally. "She's everything."

Miles winced. "What are your intentions here, Bass?"

"Nothing. I just want to love her and protect her for however long she lets me. And when she realizes she wants nothing more to do with me I'm still going to protect her. Always," Bass said.

"Does she know you're in love with her?" Miles asked.

"I haven't said it. She's not ready for it. I'm not pressuring her. I swear." Bass said.

"Does she love you?"

"I think she might. But that's not the point. I love her and that's enough," Bass said. "Loving her is enough."

"Jesus. You're turning into a fucking Hallmark card," Miles couldn't contain his disdain. Or his complete lack of comfort with this change in Bass in regards to Charlie.

"Oh, please. Like you aren't twisted around her little finger," Bass scoffed. Miles looked indignant and finished off Bass' liquor.

"I am not," Miles denied.

"Yeah whatever makes you sleep at night. Now get your ass up and get us another bottle of whiskey. You finished mine off before I got good and drunk you asshole," Bass ordered him. Miles stood and made sure to squeeze his brother's shoulder in comfort—while he was still sober enough to do it—and then smacked the back of his head before going to the bar.

* * *

Charlie didn't follow either Miles or Bass. She knew that they needed this time alone. Besides, she had something else she needed to attend to. Charlie walked across the square and towards the broken down office building. Every step felt heavier than the last. It took all her energy just to push open the door because it wasn't easy to keep forward momentum going. She was being pulled back; dragged back by crushing guilt.

She nearly went to her knees on the staircase. Her insides were hollowing out and she was losing the strength to fight against the weight that was holding her back. But Charlie knew this was something she had to do. The weight was the very reason why she needed to keep stepping forward until she reached the door to the room. The Room.

She practically tripped over her own feet trying to find the will to push open the door.

How could a room feel so empty and yet practically suffocate her too? How can any room do that?

Her steps stumbled until she entered The Room. Her lips trembled and tears spilled that she hadn't been aware of. Then she saw it.

Saw the shape of the weight that she carried around.

It was a large, imperfect circle with edges that spread out into jagged points.

A circle of Jason's blood.

Undone, Charlie fell to her knees. It had long dried. Someone had removed the body thankfully. She'd been worried he'd been left there to rot. She'd never know where the body of her first love had been laid to rest. Instead she reached out a trembling hand and brushed her fingers across the dried blood—Jason's epitaph. The only true marker that he had ever lived and walked this world.

It was so fucking unfair and it was her fault. She'd loved him and she'd killed him.

She placed the small bouquet of flowers she'd bought from a vendor on the grim epitaph. He had loved her; he had betrayed her. He had saved her; he had tried to kill her. He was a man who deserved a better fate than the one he was dealt.

She rocked herself, cradling herself in her arms, and cried for her lost love.

* * *

It was hours later when Charlie stumbled her way into Bass' tent. She'd asked around and found where his tent was. She thought about getting her own but didn't want to be alone tonight. She wasn't drunk but she was punchy from all the tears and her emotions running raw inside her. It was dark and she stumbled into the tent.

"Charlotte?" Bass called out. He hadn't been sleeping. He'd been waiting for her, worried. She hadn't been at camp when he and Miles finally stumbled back a few hours before, completely drunk. He'd asked around for her but no one had seen her. His wait and his worry had sobered him up quickly.

"It's me. Sorry to wake you," she murmured as she pulled her boots off and slipped in next to him.

"I wasn't asleep," Bass told her. "I was waiting for you."

"Sorry," Charlie said.

"Where were you?"

"Saying goodbye to someone I used to love," Charlie murmured and tucked herself in tightly into the hold of his arms. Understanding, Bass just ran his hand through her hair and circled his fingers around her back to soothe her. A while later she asked, "Did you and Miles work things out?"

Bass chuckled slightly. "Yes. I bought him lots of whiskey—which helped. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you said to him," Bass said. "I know it was because of you that he talked with me and is willing to tolerate what's going on between us. Of course, he told me that he won't intervene when your mother tries to kill me."

Charlie snorted. "Sure." She didn't sound convinced.

"She will try you know. She'll hate this almost as much as she hates me. Probably more," Bass told her.

"It shouldn't be about how much they hate you. It should be about how much they love me. About how much they want to see me happy."

"Do I? Do I make you happy?" Bass wondered. He wouldn't demand love from her; but it helped him to know that he gave her something. Even something as simple as happiness. It helped Bass to know he wasn't being used as a tool for self-flagellation on Charlie's part.

"Do you think I would be here if I wasn't happy? Do I seem like the type of person to do anything she didn't want to do?"

"Why are you here, Charlotte?" It was as close as Bass would allow himself to ask, _Do you love me like I love you? _He wanted her answer to be yes, because he did love her. He wanted it to be no, because he loved her and wanted better for her.

"I wish I could understand. I understand all the reasons why I shouldn't be here. But I think it would make it easier if I could understand why I want to be here."

"You don't have any idea why you want to be?"

"I think I know, but I'm not sure."

"What do you know?"

"I know I care about you. I know you matter to me. But this…this is new to me. I loved Jason. Don't get me wrong, I did. But this is something else, something other."

"I'm too old for you."

"Oh please. You think of all the lists of reasons why this doesn't make any sense the fact that you are older than me is number one on the list? Get real." Charlie snorted derisively at him.

"I have loved before you Charlie. You're not the first girl I ever loved. I loved Emma. I did. I shouldn't have but I did. And I loved Shelley and we had a beautiful time together until it ended horribly. So you are not the first girl I have loved Charlie."

Charlie nodded understanding, a lump in her throat. Unsure of where she could fit in a line of ghosts? How do you compete with ghosts? But then isn't that what Bass was trying to do? War with her ghosts. Danny, her dad.

"But Charlotte I will never love after you."

She gasped and gave him a strange look, unable to say anything. Bass took a leap of faith and gave her everything she'd seen in his eyes but he'd withheld from saying. Even if she never returned it, even if she rejected it, he needed to know he'd said it to her. She deserved to know the full extent of her effect on him. "You are the love of my life, Charlotte. And that…_that_ is the craziest thing I've ever done. Okay? If you take into consideration everything—this, us, is the craziest thing I could ever do. And I can't help but do it. See, if I was a better person I would leave you. You deserve better, you deserve more. But I can't. So I will do the crazy thing and I will always love you."

"You don't get decide what's good for me. That's my choice. That's not anything that you get to do. And that's not anything that Miles gets to choose or my mom. That's _my choice_. So if I choose that you are the best thing for me, you're just going to suck it up and deal, Monroe. Got it?" Charlie said in clear annoyance.

Delighted with her beyond all imagining, he kissed her quickly and laughed against her lips. He pulled away and laughed so hard he clutched his gut. _Leave it to Charlie, _he thought. _Just leave it to Charlie._

* * *

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know please. Reviews are really inspiring for me to keep writing. : ) **


	14. Chapter 14

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 14_**

**Disclaimer: **I have no rights to these characters or this world. I just saw them sitting on the front lawn of NBC and decided they would be better put to use than just left to rust and die.

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Life has kind of sucked lately, so I couldn't update. I hate to sound like a broken record but please read and leave me a comment or review with your thoughts/likes/dislikes (or if that's too public for you, PM if you wish) because they really do mean a lot and there are far more readers than reviewers. After all, it takes longer for me to write than it does for you to review and I still try to reply to people. Thanks. :)

* * *

**Austin Camp**

**Two Weeks Later**

Miles and Bass have been busy these last two weeks planning with the Ranger battalion they will be marching with. The Rangers were led by Major Marco Vasquez. Miles and Bass thought Vasquez a capable Ranger leader but weren't so sure about how he'd be out on a battlefield. He did really well in theory but it was hard to know how someone would be until they'd proved their mettle on the field. The field required ingenuity and quick thinking and adapting. In the interim, "Lieutenant" Matheson began training with the Rangers. She earned their respect because she was a strong, capable fighter—as she should be trained by both her guys, as she liked to think of them sometimes. It made it easier in her head. She couldn't separate them and couldn't bear to think of doing without one.

Charlie also endeared herself to the camp followers who appreciated her keen skills as a hunter and her ability to dress and process her own meat. The fact that she was also a moderately skilled healer—and had a tolerance for the younger kids—didn't hurt. Charlie earned a reputation for not being afraid to get her hands dirty: things needed to be done—hunting, cooking, laundering, stitching up wounds, whatever—she just pitched right in.

It made finding time with her particularly frustrating for Bass, who missed her during their time apart. To make the matter worse, Charlie had decided to get her own tent against Bass' continuous protestation. They spent nearly every night together anyway; and when they didn't he slept for shit. Normally that was because she was out hunting or was helping the followers with things and came to bed too late and too tired so she normally crashed on the small cot in her tent. Bass didn't sleep those nights because he missed her and because he worried that she was okay.

But now he was on a mission to find his girl. Last night had been a night where he had been without her. This morning he'd tried to find her but her tent had been empty. Bass had spent the rest of the day in strategy meetings with Miles, Blanchard and Vasquez. He figured she'd be in her tent if she was back—_Why wouldn't she be back?! –_ instead of his tent, where he'd rather she be.

"Charlotte? Knock, knock." He said outside her tent flap.

"Come in Sebastian," she said and he smiled. There was something about her using his full name that amused him. So few used it. And no one said it like she did.

He pushed through into the tent and found her sitting at her rickety table on her twice-as-rickety chair fletching arrows.

"When did you get back?" he asked. The relief the first sight of her brought him rushed through him. He could never be easy until he knew she was okay.

"I don't know. A few hours ago, maybe?" Charlotte said with a shrug. "I helped Rosa for a bit." Rosa had become the unofficial leader of the camp follower kitchen. And Rosa had been one of the first to take Charlie underwing. Charlie hung the moon as far as Rosa was concerned.

"I missed you," he said. It felt less and less awkward to make these declarations to her. He still had no idea what their status was or what to expect from her—and he was sticking to his vow not to pressure her—but nevertheless, he found it too hard to keep all his feelings inside anymore.

She put down her work to give him her full attention. Charlie flashed him that amused grin, a quick peek at her dimple that still fascinated him. "Maybe I missed you too."

"Yeah? That's good," he said. He always worried when they were apart that she would come back and suddenly realize what he both wished for her and dreaded from her: She would realize he was no good for her and she would leave him. He loved her enough to want it; he loved her enough to fear it.

"Are you sure you missed me?" Charlie inquired. "You sure that Greta didn't keep you from being too lonely?" Greta was one of the "friendlier" camp followers and she had tried a few times to lure the great General Monroe into being her playmate. He hadn't taken the bait.

"There are only two options for me, Charlie: being with you and being without you," Bass told her sincerely, though he knew she had only been teasing. Still, it probably wouldn't hurt his ego if she showed a hint of jealousy. "I was the latter last night."

"Poor Monroe," Charlie said even as her insides did a flip at his words. He was being so much more open with his feelings to her. It wasn't that she didn't return them but she didn't know how to say them. It terrified her. First, because everyone always leaves her. Second, to finally say those words to him, it would be turning a corner, one she could not come back from. Charlie had never said those words—not even to Jason, though she had felt them. Had been sure he had felt them too. But everything about their relationship had been all secrets and innuendos and deceit. It had made it hard to confide those very new feelings inside of her to him.

But there wasn't any deception with Bass. He was open and honest with her. They certainly had their own set of complications, but Charlie didn't doubt his sincerity to her. But for whatever reason, there was something inside Charlie that was refusing to let her take that final plunge and surrender entirely to her feelings. A piece of her kept whispering that she would regret it if she did. She didn't know why; but she listened. Charlie had learned to trust her instincts—they weren't perfect but they had gotten her this far. If she hadn't trusted her instincts, she and Bass would never have come to be. Hell, she'd have left Bass somewhere in the Plains Nation instead of reluctantly riding shotgun on the way back to Willoughby. For now, Charlie listened to that voice inside of her that urged her to use caution.

She stood up and wrapped her arms around him. She felt his usual tremble whenever she touched him and her corresponding rush that she could have such an effect of Sebastian Monroe. "I guess I owe you a kiss."

"I guess you do," Bass agreed. Then didn't wait for her but claimed her lips with his own. It was a hungry kiss—he was, after all, a man starved of his favorite meal. The taste of Charlie never got old. The feel always delighted. Her smell always intoxicated.

"You think anyone will come in?" Charlie whispered against his lips.

Bass nibbled on her bottom lip and then brushed his tongue across to soothe it. "I'm more concerned about dying on that rickety cot you call a bed. I swear Charlie you picked a cot for a child."

"Then maybe we should go back to your tent, Monroe," Charlie suggested.

"How long until you see that it's _our_ tent, Charlie?" Bass inquired.

Charlie sighed against him and stepped back. But he refused to let her step all the way away and held his hands on her waist. "You know why I want my own tent."

"No, I really don't," Bass said. "We spend nearly every night together there."

"But it's the idea that I can come here," Charlie explained.

Wounded, Bass let her go and took his own step back. "I see."

Charlie dragged her fingers through her hair in a rare show of frustration. "No. You don't."

"You want to be able to get away from me," Bass surmised.

"But that doesn't mean that I want to be away from you," Charlie argued. "It's just…"

"It's just what?" Bass asked, working hard to suppress his temper.

"I don't know what this is or what we are or where this is going. And I'm not saying that to have that discussion, _I'm not_. But if whatever this is doesn't work—you or I or both of us get tired of it—I don't want to be seen as the poor pathetic girl who got kicked out of the General's tent and had to find new quarters," Charlie explained. "If that time comes I want to be able to stay in this tent with dignity and not feel embarrassed in front of the guys. And that's another reason—I don't want to be accused of favoritism because I'm the niece of one General and the bed warmer of another."

Bass' eyes flared with anger. "Bed warmer? Did you just call yourself my bed warmer?"

"You know what I meant," she snapped. _How in the hell had they gone from flirting to this? _

"No. I don't. Because I don't see you that way—not at all. But apparently you think I do," Bass said. "You don't want to use labels, fine, Charlie. We'll play it your way. But don't for one goddamn minute think that _I_ think of you as somebody no better than Greta. You mean more to me than that."

"I know it. You do too," Charlie told him. "I didn't mean it the way it came out. I don't think that you feel that way or think that way. But maybe some of the other soldiers do."

"Has anyone been giving you a hard time?" Bass demanded.

Charlie shook her head. There had been a couple of instances but she refused to run to Bass or her uncle. She had taken care of the problem on her own. Bass didn't believe her but didn't press the issue. But he certainly would be keeping an eye out and asking around. No one was going to give Charlie a hard time about being with him. No one would accuse her of being a whore.

"You are not my whore. You are not even my mistress, Charlotte," Bass told her. "If anyone implies otherwise I want to know. You are my lover and my partner. And I want to share my tent with you. You want to keep this tent for symbolic reasons? Fine. Keep it for space. But please stay with me."

Charlie saw the earnestness in his eyes. She couldn't give him all the things inside her yet but she could give him this. But she rolled her eyes for form. "Fine."

Bass gave her that large smile and scooped her up in a tight embrace. "You mean it baby?" He whispered into her ear. "Yeah, I mean it."

"Well then let's get your stuff and get out of here," Bass said. But at that moment the call for dinner rang out. "How about we eat and then come back?" Charlie suggested. "Not all of us were in catered meetings today, Monroe."

He pinched her for her sass as she walked out of the tent. She jumped and yelped in surprise and he started to laugh at her as she turned to glare at him. When she reached out to return the favor, he grabbed her hands and they wrestled around a bit until he caught her lips in a kiss.

The sound akin to that of a feral animal pinned in a trap rang in their ears just seconds before they were ripped apart from each other and Bass was accosted.

"You sick son of a bitch! My daughter! I will kill you! _I will kill you!_" Rachel screamed as she beat on Bass, who was nobly refraining from hitting Rachel back. Instead he focused on deflecting her blows. Charlie moved in to try and separate them.

"Mom, stop it!" Charlie begged but Rachel was not listening to her. Suddenly Miles appeared and wrapped his arms around Rachel and pulled her off and carried her off towards his tent. Rachel fought the entire time, desperate to break free and kill Monroe. She screamed profanities and threats at him the entire way.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked Bass once they were alone. The soldiers nearby had all gathered to watch the spectacle but had dispersed with one cutting glance from Monroe.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I wanted to punch her though," Bass admitted.

"I know. Thank you for not hitting her," Charlie said. "I suppose I should go and talk with her."

"_We _will go. I'm not sending you in to deal with her on your own," Bass said. He grabbed her hand to show solidarity. Together they walked down to Miles' tent. When they reached the tent they heard Miles inside telling her she needed to calm down and Rachel demanded that Miles kill Bass for touching Charlie.

Charlie walked in first followed by Bass. "Actually, I can take care of myself."

"Charlie, what are you thinking? Letting him touch you?" Rachel asked her daughter, moving in to stare her in the eyes. "He forced you didn't he?"

Charlie felt Bass' anger but didn't look at him. "No. In fact, I touched him first."

The connection of Rachel's hand to Charlie's face stung and the sound reverberated through the tent like a canon.

"Hey! You say and do what you want to me, got it? But you ever lay so much as a finger on Charlie again and I will break your hand!" Bass promised as he stepped in between mother and daughter. He pulled Charlie away to look at her face. "Are you okay baby?"

Charlie nodded. It wasn't the first time Rachel had slapped her but it still hurt nevertheless to know that her mother could hate her enough to physically strike her.

While this was going on, Miles had stepped over as Bass had and pulled Rachel away from Charlie, shocked that Rachel had hit her own daughter. "Whoa! What the hell are you thinking?!"

"Did you know about this?" Rachel demanded.

"I've known about it for the two weeks they've been here at camp," Miles admitted reluctantly. Rachel then slapped him. "And you let it carry on? Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you kill him?"

"Kill him for what? Charlie wants to be with him. Do I like it? Not particularly but she can make her choices," Miles shot back. "How did you find out?"

"Dad and I got back from Willoughby a little while ago. We brought supplies back for the camp followers. We were dealing with those. I heard that Charlie had returned and I wanted to see her. I found out where her tent was and went to find her. Then I saw Bass with his hands all over her and they're kissing," Rachel said. She lunged at Bass again but Miles blocked her.

"Mom, stop it," Charlie pleaded.

"How could you, Charlie? He killed your father! He killed your brother!" Rachel shouted.

"It's all complicated and you're hardly perfect," Charlie said. "How is this any different than you forgiving Miles?"

"Miles didn't kill my son!" Rachel said.

"Well technically neither did Bass!" Charlie shouted back. "He wasn't even there. I'm not saying he isn't partially responsible but he didn't pull the trigger. And Danny made himself a soldier. He chose to pick up that rocket launcher."

"Don't you dare blame Danny! Don't you dare blame my precious baby boy," Rachel cried out in a mixture of screams and tears. "You're father and brother would be so ashamed of you."

Charlie looked at her mother in disgust. Even in death, Danny would always be more important than her. It didn't matter what she wanted or what made her happy.

"I knew Danny best of all. I loved him best and he loved me best. I don't think he'd hate me and you shouldn't either," Charlie said.

"He's a womanizer, Charlie. He's just using you like you're another of his whores," Rachel said.

"Rachel!" and "Watch your mouth!" Miles and Bass growled simultaneously.

"I can't believe this." Rachel stopped her hysterics and looked Bass in the eye with her cold, calculating stare. "You've stolen both of my kids from me you sick fucking monster."

"Mom, stop it!" Charlie repeated.

"He kept me prisoner for years and tortured me, did you know that?" Rachel asked Charlie. "All so he could have the precious power. He left Strausser alone with me, Charlie! Is that really the man whose hands you want on you? He's poison to this family, Charlie."

Charlie had no words for that. Rachel had never gone into what had happened during her time in Philadelphia. "I'm sorry. But he's not the same person anymore."

"Oh, don't be _so stupid_ Charlie!" Rachel sneered. "He's using you to get to me. I'm the one he wants."

"Excuse me?" Bass said as Charlie said, "What are you talking about?"

"He kissed me! He kissed me when we were out trying to find Miles," Rachel declared.

Stunned, Charlie stepped back from the force of her mother's words. Then her mother went in for the kill.

"He slept with me. Did he tell you that?" Rachel announced.

"What?" Miles snapped.

Bass turned to look at Charlie and she saw the truth. He still couldn't lie with his eyes. But apparently he could still lie to her because he'd kept this from her. Maybe Bass hadn't been so open and honest with her as she believed. Maybe this was the reason why her subconscious had refused to let her tell him how she felt. Because it had all been based on a lie.

"When the hell was this?" Miles demanded and came over to grab Bass by the collar. "When was this?!"

"Years ago in Philadelphia," Bass answered as he pushed Miles' hands off him.

"Did you force her? What did you do to her?" Miles didn't wait for an answer. He just pulled back and swung, connecting his fist to Bass' jaw. Then the two Generals, brothers and sometimes friends were pounding on each other. Charlie stared in disbelief as Monroe and Miles tore into each other. Then she looked over at her mother who was watching the spectacle with grim satisfaction on her face. Rachel was clearly pleased with this turn of events—she had finally found a way to drive a wedge in between Miles and Monroe.

Sickened by all of them and their perpetual deceit, Charlie slipped out of the tent. She thought about returning to her tent but knew that wouldn't suffice. She went to find Aaron and Priscilla and found them with the rest of the camp who were eating near Rosa's makeshift kitchen.

* * *

_"__Charlie? Charlie may I speak with you?" Charlie looked over her shoulder and found that Priscilla, Aaron's former wife and now girlfriend (Charlie wasn't sure what their status was), was calling out for her. _

_"__Sure. What can I help you with?" Charlie asked._

_"__I heard from Aaron that on your trip you came across Patriots who were stealing kids. Is it true?" Priscilla asked. _

_"__Yeah. Apparently it's going on all over." Priscilla's beautiful olive complexion paled at Charlie's words. "Are you okay?"_

_"__I need your help, Charlie," Priscilla told her._

_"__With what?" _

_Priscilla moved her hand over her mouth scrapping her finger across the edge of her teeth. "I need you to help me find my daughters."_

_"__I'm sorry?" Charlie said. She hadn't been aware that Priscilla had any children. But then she really didn't know much about her._

_"__Aaron told me that you found Monroe's son. I know he's not here but you did find him right?" Charlie nodded. "I have two daughters. The oldest is eleven. I need to know that they are okay and haven't been taken by the Patriots for their reprogramming centers."_

_"__I wouldn't even begin to know how to find them," Charlie said._

_"__I know whereabouts their father was taking them. He has family in Texas," Priscilla explained. "Please, help me. I need to know that my children are okay. I left them to keep them safe from the nano but I couldn't bear it if I left them vulnerable to the Patriots."_

_"__I'll see what I can do," Charlie said obscurely. _

_Later, when she had told Bass about Priscilla's request he had chuckled softly and called her the "child whisperer for missing kids." _

* * *

Thinking of Bass hurt too much right now. Everything just felt too much right now. She needed to go. Like she had needed to leave Willoughby a year ago, she needed to make tracks fast. She marched up to a stunned Aaron and Priscilla, "If you still want me to help you find your kids then get your stuff together. We'll leave within the hour." Then she marched away.

Charlie returned to her tent and repacked all of her meager possessions. When she thought about why she'd previously planned on packing her things up, her insides tended to twist into painful knots. _He slept with me. He kissed me. I'm the one he wants. _Kept beating like a drum in her brain. She was finishing securing her pack and checking her gun before tucking it in the back of her pants when Bass entered the tent.

"Charlie we need to talk," Bass said.

"No we don't," Charlie worked to keep her voice cool and remote.

"It's not what you think," Bass said.

"You don't know what I'm thinking," Charlie countered. She looked at him. He had a bruise on his jaw, a split lip and a cut bleeding over his right eye. Her fingers itched to touch, soothe and care for him. She flexed them into fists instead and dug her fingernails into her palms.

"I didn't force her." Bass said.

"So you admit to sleeping with her? And kissing her? You admit to that—_finally_?" Charlie surmised.

"It was a long time ago…"

"And you didn't think it was the least bit important for me to know?" Charlie asked. "Why would you keep it a secret unless it meant something? Unless she was right."

"Wrong. It meant nothing. It was a mistake—for both of us. It was after Miles left, okay? We were both miserable and drunk and then she kissed me first and it escalated. It was _not_ about love it was about bitter loneliness," Bass told her.

"And when you kissed her?"

"It was kiss her or kill her because she accused me of forcing her into bed that night," Bass said. "We've never spoken about that night, ever. But it was consensual. I saw red when she said otherwise and I figured Miles would be pissed if I snapped her neck so I kissed her to show her what being forced was really like."

Charlie nodded. "But still you didn't say anything."

"Because I didn't think there was anything to say," Bass said. "I've hated that night almost from the second it started and most certainly after it was over."

There was a part of Charlie that understood that. She certainly felt that way about her night with Connor, which was probably not much worse than him having slept with her mother. But it was the deceit her pride was having a hard time letting go of. Her entire life has been littered with one deceit after another.

"Is Miles okay?" Charlie asked.

Bass grunted. "He's fine. He'll be nursing a black eye but he's okay. Well, he's pissed naturally but he stopped hitting me when he realized I was telling him the truth about what happened that night. He wasn't happy but he couldn't believe it was anything less than consensual. When I left to find you after I realized you were gone, he and Rachel were sharing words."

"Okay," Charlie said and then hefted her pack onto her back and then her crossbow.

"Wait. What's going on? Where are you going?" Bass' voice was coated with panic.

"I'm leaving."

Everything inside of Bass went slick with fear and he felt sick. Somewhere in the back of his mind he started to feel the pull of darkness creeping in. Charlotte couldn't leave him. He was nothing without her. Didn't she know that?

"You can't go…" Bass pleaded.

"You know how I said that I would tell you if I needed space? I need it. This is me taking the space I want. A tent isn't enough," Charlie told him.

Bass gripped her arms, careful not to hurt her but still keeping his grip strong as if he could just hold her in place. As if he could just hold the walls of his world in place by making sure she didn't move. "Please don't do this baby. Please don't leave me."

"I'm not your baby," Charlie said and stepped out of his grip. "Goodbye, Monroe."

"Charlotte, I love you," Bass said in an agonized whisper. But Charlie never turned back to him. She just kept walking away, leaving the shredded walls of his world in her wake.

Charlie had heard his words and had felt them like a punch to her center. She cursed the tear that rolled down her cheek but she didn't turn back. Charlie refused to let him know how his words had affected her because she couldn't comprehend her own tumultuous feelings at the moment. Every step ripped something inside of her, but staying would only eat her alive. She'd rather die the slow death than be consumed with the madness that would overtake her if she stayed there with him, her mom, her uncle. She thought briefly about telling Miles she was leaving but couldn't bear to see her mother again.

There had been something in her mother's eyes that haunted her. When she had revealed her and Bass' dark secret, Rachel had wanted to hurt Charlie. In that moment, her own mother had taken pleasure from her daughter's pain. Charlie wasn't sure how to live with that and decided it best not to. Space. Space was the answer. It had to be. It was truly the only thing Charlie had left.

* * *

**A/N: **So yeah. That happened. I was always going to have to bring up that dreaded night in Philly and that godforsaken kiss in 2.19. To express my horror about that would take a thesis paper. As passionate as I am about Charloe, I'm equally—maybe even more so—passionate about #NOBACHEL. At all. It totally screws with my head and my Charloe mojo. *Shudders violently* Anyway, part of me wanted to have Charlie laugh it off and I think she probably would have if Bass had been upfront about it. Since he wasn't, it was easy to believe she'd be betrayed by his deceit. I realized that I could use this to force them apart (which was in the plans) while Charlie went off on this trip and Bass left Austin with Miles. This is the plot point that ch. 9 was leading into, by the way. This is also why I spent so many chapters leading up to them and then dealing with them as a couple. So it would mean more when this came about. And yes, I totally made Rachel a full-on evil bitch here. I'm not sorry. **Now please, please, please let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 15_**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: ****So sorry this took so long**. I've been up to my eyeballs in organizing my plot—which is scattered over several pieces of paper and computer files—and researching for the story. IDK why I thought world building would be easier here than in my original stories, but I was wrong. The problem is my obsessive nature. Real life also kicked me around a bit too. I was also helping whynotitsfun and then she helped me here**_, so thanks so much to whynotitsfun for helping me out of my quagmire_**. You kind of owe this chapter to her because I wasn't posting it until I could figure out some serious questions I was having about my story. She helped me realize I could go back to my original idea all along and that I was making it more complicated and harder on myself than necessary. So her help was invaluable especially as she is undertaking her own epic story—thanks again!

* * *

_Hours later after the horrendous showdown, one not-nearly-enough bottle of whiskey later, Miles entered Charlie's tent. He hadn't expected to find a despondent Bass sitting on a cot holding an arrow like it was his life support. _

_"__You're too late, brother," Bass said. "She's already gone." _

_Miles had seen Bass like this twice before. The first had been in a graveyard with four new graves; the second had been outside a tent awash in blood. Everything inside Miles twisted. He may have hated it but he couldn't deny that Bass loved Charlie. If she was gone, Miles knew only the worst would come. He may actually have to kill his best friend this time. _

_"__You didn't stop her?" Miles demanded._

_"__You ever been able to stop Charlotte once she gets an idea into her head?" Bass demanded. "She's stubborn like a mule. Just like you."_

_Miles couldn't deny the accusation. "When did she leave?" _

_"__Several hours ago. Not long after it all went down," Bass said. _

_"__You didn't follow her?" _

_"__She doesn't want me, Miles," Bass said and his voice broke a little. "I…I have to respect that." It was killing him inside, but he wouldn't pressure her. Besides, he got what he wanted didn't he? She finally realized she deserved better than him. Who knew getting what you want could hurt so fucking much? _

_"__Where did she go?"_

_"__She wasn't exactly in the mood for talking, if you catch my drift," Bass said. "Hell she wasn't even going to say goodbye. I just barely caught her before she left."_

_"__She didn't say anything to me or to Rachel," Miles said. "I doubt she said something to Gene because he would have told us." Then it suddenly crashed down on Miles. "She's really gone?"_

_Bass sniffed. "Yeah. She's gone." _

_"__You can't lose it this time, Bass," Miles warned. "You gotta keep your shit together."_

_"__I know that," Bass agreed, surprising Miles. _

_"__You do?"_

_"__I always said I would take what Charlie gave me because it was more than I deserved," Bass told Miles. "This is what she gave me. She gave me clarity and a purpose. I can't…I may not have her anymore but I can't bear to disappoint her. She chose to forgive me for a lot of things, every day. I want to be worthy of that. I wanted her to go find something more for herself. And I hope she does. It'll fucking eat me alive thinking of her with anyone else but they'll be better for her than me. She might be gone but I can't…This is the last thing I can ever do for Charlotte." Bass looked Miles dead in the eye. "I'm not going to let her down ever again." _

_Miles saw the raw agony burning in his brother's eyes, but he also saw his resolve. Somehow Charlie had worked a miracle and found and resurrected pieces of his old friend. A person he thought he'd never see again. That Bass would have done anything for those he loved, like enlisting in the Marines instead of going to college or huddling behind rubble while Trenton blew up behind them to stay with a badly wounded friend. Bass without a doubt loved Charlie. He would honor her by fighting against President Monroe. _

_That brought a sense of relief in Miles. And a touch of nostalgia to think that he was closer to his old friend than he'd ever been before. But damn if the absence of Charlie didn't ache like a son of bitch. _

* * *

**Seven Weeks Later **

**Former Arkansas Province**

Little Rock proved to be a bitch tactically for Miles and Bass and their company of two hundred Rangers. It was the very last Ranger outpost in the Texas nation. Blanchard hadn't heard word from them in several weeks and wanted a report. In their tactical meetings, Blanchard stated he wanted them to stop at Little Rock as they headed northeast. Their plan was to hit as many known locations of Patriot reprogramming camps as possible. If they could cut down on the super-soldier factories it would tip the scales in their favor. As it was, one Patriot super-soldier was the equivalent of at least three regular soldiers. They had no response to pain or wounds. Only death stopped them. The first point of attack was reaching Nashville. It had a reprogramming center there. A rather large facility if the reports were to be believed.

Unfortunately, the Rangers had been overrun at Little Rock. Once Miles, Monroe and company arrived there was a bitch of a battle that had gone on nearly two weeks. Patriots had taken over the outpost; they were only about seventy Patriots in the city but forty of them had been super-soldiers. Most of the Rangers at Little Rock had been killed; those who remained were taken prisoner. Since no one doubted that Patriots were nastier to their prisoners than they were to their recruits, the Rangers following Miles and Monroe had been enraged and absolutely focused on rescuing their fellow Rangers and killing every Patriot they could see.

Slowly, Miles and Monroe were able to make their way into the city. They took over the train station which waylaid any supplies the Patriots were getting from their leaders in Washington. Monroe and Miles had argued with Major Vasquez about the train; he had wanted to attack the Patriot headquarters, formerly the Ranger headquarters. In a vote system, Vasquez had been outvoted (and outranked) two-to-one. It had proved to be the right decision. The day after they had taken over the station, an incoming train had arrived. It had ammunition, explosives, medicines and rations. Monroe and Miles had commandeered everything for their own army.

One of the cars had been loaded with dry ice and carrying numerous vials all marked in some Patriot code. "I think they are vaccines," Rachel hazarded a guess. Unsure of what they were dealing with, Miles and Monroe had called upon Rachel and Gene, both of whom had decided to travel with them.

"Do we know for what?" Miles inquired.

Gene looked around. "I'd say this is for smallpox."

Smallpox had returned shortly after the blackout occurred. No one knows why—it had been considered eradicated decades prior. It would have been understandable if it had broken out around Atlanta where the CDC was located. Who knew what became of the place after the blackout, but it had been destroyed by the Patriot nuke so there was no way of ever investigating. However, the first signs that smallpox had returned was in Maryland. At the time there were lots of small militias fighting and it spread from group to group, across the country through various armies and followers. It was something Miles and Monroe were familiar with—it had run through their own militia, as well as a civilian camp they'd once lived in prior to starting the militia. Thankfully, neither of them had caught it. A false rumor had said that Monroe had released the disease as biological warfare—another lie easy to lay at a tyrant's feet. The truth was that it had come back and spread long before Monroe had been President. Not to mention he had no access to the virus to spread it. It had only existed in two known places at the time the blackout—the Atlanta CDC and in Russia.

"That could be handy," Miles said thinking back to the militia wars.

Bass scoffed. "If it's really a vaccine. Probably bottles full of arsenic."

Rachel spoke up. "As much as it pains me to say this, Monroe has a point. Nothing is ever as it seems with the Patriots. We should destroy them."

Gene was scandalized. "You want to destroy something that could potentially save lives and that could also eradicate—again—a deadly virus?"

"How do we know it's legit?" Miles countered. "The only way to know is to try. I don't think people will be lining up to possibly get poisoned by a fake vaccine. Unless you think we should capture Patriots and use them for guinea pigs."

"No," Bass interjected. "We aren't doing that. That's what the Patriots would do. Any P.O.W.s we have aren't lab rats. It's not something….It's not right. We destroy them. Rachel, do whatever you need to get it done."

He walked out of the boxcar and took deep breaths. He'd almost said, "It's not something Charlotte would do." And it wasn't. But it was what President Monroe would have done—and something that he'd been sorely tempted to try when Miles said it. But good men didn't do that, he told himself. This wasn't like in Willoughby when they had used typhus on Truman to locate the antidote. Currently there wasn't an outbreak and no justification to possibly poison prisoners. He'd clung to Charlie's name to get him through the moment. But he hadn't been able to say Charlotte's name in Rachel's presence. He doubted he could resist the need to punish her, for he blamed Rachel most of all for Charlie's leaving.

They also found a couple of Arabic-coded messages but one of the Rangers—Captain Morgan (who got an endless amount of ribbing for that)—decoded them. These were supplies that were supposed to head over to California and the troops they sent there. The Intel they intercepted told them that Patriots had moved on California. Whether California was engaging them, no one knew. There was also a short train schedule for Willoughby and other stations throughout Texas, as well as the Plains Nation. The Georgia Federation and Texas had both worked together to build up a network of trains between the two countries. They'd had a decent trade between them and the trains made transport easier and faster.

Trade between Georgia and the Monroe Republic had been scarce. Kelly Foster and Monroe had butted heads a long time over territory. Bass had wanted to claim more of the south because it had warmer weather longer and therefore more time for crop growing. Having territory capable of doing that would mean that people in the northern part of the Monroe Republic wouldn't starve so much. Monroe had attempted to negotiate trading with Foster but she had wanted all the remaining portion of Kentucky in the agreement between the two countries. Monroe had refused and trading had mostly dried up. An underground, black market network had existed (which Bass had secretly taken advantage of because he'd always loved oranges and enjoyed having orange juice with his breakfast).

The ability to produce more goods for greater trade with other nations had made Georgia rich, which Foster had invested into the railroad network to expedite trading. The Monroe Republic, based primarily in the northeast already had an intricate network of railroads available for its use. However, it wasn't as rich as Georgia and didn't have the money to invest in steam engines or combustible engines. (Its leader being singularly obsessed with turning on the electricity hadn't helped technology advance in the Republic, either, which was why their first working train had taken over five years to work.)

Unfortunately, now the Patriots had access to nearly all the Georgian tracks. Foster's plan to grow Georgia was now biting everyone in the ass. Foster had a few trains that could travel clear to the California Commonwealth. The use of the Plains Nation's tracks had been part of her treaty with the Nations when she agreed to go to war with Monroe to allow reaching northern California easier as well as opening trade up with Canada. Foster also had treaties with Texas and they allowed her usage of their tracks so she could reach the southern California Commonwealth. Crossing the Wasteland was challenging, but if California wanted money it needed to be able to trade and had invested in improving the railroad structure through the area so that its own goods could be exported to the other countries.

Georgia had the most working trains out of any of the nation-states in the former United States. The fact that the Patriots now had access to them was making them more lethal and widespread.

After taking control of the railroad station, the Generals and Major Vasquez focused in on targeting the Patriot headquarters. Fighting had gone on for nearly a week before a rescue team had been able to infiltrate and rescue the seven Rangers left alive. Afterward the Patriots' own explosives were used to destroy the headquarters.

Monroe and Miles had earned the respect of their Ranger battalion for their battle strategy. But what had earned them loyalty had been an act they hadn't planned. Vasquez had been wounded, left bleeding to death on the ground, during their several days of fighting for the headquarters. Miles and Monroe, Marines at heart, never left a man behind. They had told the rest of the Rangers to fall back to safety and then had headed back out into a firefight to drag the Major off the battlefield. Unfortunately, Vasquez had died of a gut shot but the bravery the two Generals had exhibited in saving the Ranger leader had endeared them to the men, even when that hadn't been their intention.

Little Rock had taken two weeks to take back and nearly another two to set back up. Coffins were built for the fallen Rangers (fifty-two); a funeral pyre burned for the Patriots. A team of twelve wagons would return the bodies and a detailed report to Blanchard back in Austin. Another ten Rangers were left behind in Little Rock. Monroe and Miles left Little Rock with less than one hundred and fifty men.

Monroe sat lonely in his camp quarters. He missed Charlie. It kept playing on repeat in his head. He'd spent so much of their time together wishing she'd realize she needed to be apart from him and now he wanted to shoot himself for it. How in the hell had he assumed he would just carry on when she'd gone? Everything in him felt hollow. He knew he was still alive because the pain was unrelenting. He worried about her all the time. Where she was, what she was doing, and if she was okay? He prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in anymore that Charlie would be okay.

He was washing off blood that had dried on him and he found himself staring into the murky, red water. Both he and Miles had dragged their feet leaving Austin. When Charlie had left, the plan had been to head out in two weeks for Nashville. They had managed to delay it for another week in the hopes that she would return.

But Charlie hadn't come back to them and they had no more reasons to wait around Austin. There was a job to do.

_"__She's a hell of tracker. She'll find us," Miles said before he and Bass were to board a wagon. _

_"__Why would she want to?" Bass asked, the fear evident in his voice._

_"__Because she's Charlie. She's hurt right now but she'll…"_

_"__Get over it?" Bass supplied, disbelieving. "I don't think she will. What Rachel did…If you knew all the things Charlie has dealt with in regards to her mother…"Bass cut himself off at Miles' dirty look. "I'm just saying that Charlie has had to put up with more than her fair share of shit from _all_ of us. I think this may be the last straw. I don't think we'll ever see her again, Miles."_

_Miles said nothing but stepped up to take a seat on the wagon bench. Part of him worried that Bass was right: Charlie would never get over it and never return. If she didn't want to be found, Miles doubted they'd find her. Of course, she was with Aaron and Priscilla, which they had discovered the morning after she left when they'd learned both were gone as well. Aaron had left a quickly written note on the desk inside his tent._

Miles,

Priscilla and I are going with Charlie. She has agreed to help Priscilla find her daughters. I know we are going somewhere in the northern part of Texas. I'm not sure how long this trip will take. I can tell something is wrong with Charlie; I've known her for years and I know her moods. She's trying to act like everything is okay but clearly it's not. I will look out for her to the best of my abilities.

Aaron

* * *

**Three Weeks after leaving Austin **

**Ardmore, formerly of the state of Oklahoma, now part of the Texas Republic **

Charlie recalled the term ghost town. It had been Aaron who had introduced the phrase to her vernacular. She'd been a young girl listening to Aaron's "teachings" and how he described that major cities became nothing more than ghost towns post-blackout. A young Charlie had thought he meant towns inhabited by real ghosts but Aaron had explained it just meant that it was basically an abandoned town, left to be forgotten by time.

Ardmore was such a town. It clearly once prospered much like Willoughby. It was once a small pre-blackout home to several thousand people. Like many cities after the blackout, it had been abandoned and Mother Nature had taken over most of it. A cluster of twisters seven years ago destroyed much of the city. Only a couple really big buildings remained standing, but it was questionable how structurally sound they were. Five years ago people had returned to a small piece of Ardmore and had inhabited it, turning it from a former small metropolis to more of a small town. But now it looked ready to turn to nothing more than dust to dust.

Charlie, Priscilla, and Aaron—who had insisted on being part of this trip—were hidden away by a line of trees. Charlie had halted their immediate entry into the town. She had seen a few Patriot flags and didn't know if the town was still occupied by the Patriots. She didn't want to walk into another situation like she and Bass had with the school with just Priscilla and Aaron as her backup.

Damn it. She wasn't going to think about Bass. She had succeeded for roughly three minutes. A personal record.

But the longer they watched the town the longer they went without seeing any sign of life. Deciding to bite the bullet, Charlie instructed Priscilla and Aaron to follow her. Unlike Willoughby, they didn't have a town wall—foolish if you asked Charlie. As they walked in, Charlie took in her surroundings. Stores were closed, houses were dark and there showed no sign of life.

"We just need tumbleweed," Aaron remarked.

Charlie didn't understand but kept quiet. In a few places, Charlie had seen the quick peek of little faces at windows to be quickly hidden away by curtains. Turning the corner they finally saw activity. Children were running around, hauling buckets of water from a well. Others were laundering clothes and hanging them on makeshift clotheslines.

"Okay, this is a little too _Lord of the Flies_ for me," Aaron said. He was flashing back to the last child-only habitation he and Charlie had come across. Charlie had let herself be taken on a conscription boat to save one of the children. He really hoped this version of Never-hell was a lot less exciting.

Charlie was surprised she actually understood that reference. When she was younger she had heard a couple of the older kids talking about the book they were reading in Aaron's upper level class. She hadn't understood the title and had asked about it. Her dad had told her she was too young and to wait a couple of years to read it in Aaron's class. Unsatisfied being told that she was too young _to read a book_ considering all the rather adult things she did on a daily basis, Charlie had snuck away and lifted one of the books. She'd read it at night by candlelight while she looked after her brother. She hadn't enjoyed the book at all. Everything had gone to pieces; Charlie wasn't so young and isolated she hadn't noticed the correlation between the world of the book and the way the world was post-blackout. There was such cruelty in the book that it had disturbed Charlie. Back then, Charlie had wanted to believe that the world wasn't all bad despite her father's rather dire regular warnings. It wasn't until later that she realized her father had been more right than she'd given him credit for. Unfortunately.

They saw a flutter of an activity around one of the last two larger buildings, remnants of a time long ago. A Patriot flag on the outside of the building now hung by one corner, dangling in the dirt. Aaron, Priscilla and Charlie dismounted their horses and cautiously approached the building. Charlie pulled her gun and motioned for the other two to stay behind her. She stepped through the front door, gun raised, and was surprised by what she saw. She had seen something similar before.

It was no Patriot headquarters, but a quarantine building. Rows of cots—many of them empty now—lined the long room. "Come on in," Charlie told Priscilla and Aaron. They followed her inside and took in the room. Nearly two dozen patients were all adults. Only two adults remained standing, helping to take care of the sick; the rest were kids ten and older helping with the sick.

"What is going on?" Priscilla asked in shock. It drew the attention of one of the adults.

"Can we help you?"

"We're trying to find the Taylor family. Can you tell us where to find them?" Priscilla asked.

The woman, who looked about ten years older than Charlie, looked contrite. Priscilla murmured "No" at the woman's expression. It was clear the news wasn't good. "I'm so sorry. Come on we should talk outside."

"What happened here?" Aaron asked. He reached out and put a consoling arm around Priscilla's shoulders.

"We think it's some virulent form of influenza," the woman said. "Sorry. Where are my manners? I'm distracted. My name is Melanie. And you are?"

"I'm Aaron. That's Charlie. And this is Priscilla. She was hoping to find her husband and two daughters," Aaron explained.

Melanie's eyes brightened. "Rebecca and Gabi?"

Priscilla's head shot up with hope. "Yes."

"They are out at a homestead with their father. They decided to stay out there after his parents and his brother's family all came down with it. Only a few children have gotten sick," Melanie explained. "But they fully recovered. The adults haven't been so lucky."

"How?"

Melanie shrugged. "Our doctor—who unfortunately passed last week—thought it might be something like what they used to call the Spanish flu. I guess it was an epidemic early last century," Melanie said by way of explanation. Charlie hadn't heard of it. Or didn't recall if she had but Aaron and Priscilla nodded understanding. "Doc Briar said that the 1918 epidemic hit primarily young, healthy adults, sparing the young and the old."

"I remember. It caused some sort of cytokine storm," Priscilla said.

"You a doctor?" Melanie asked her voice hopeful.

"No. But I did take a lot of biology and chemistry in college. Back when there were colleges," Priscilla said. "I thought I wanted to be a doctor and then realized I was terrified to insert a needle in someone's vein. I never went on to med school and stuck to computers, which was stupid now given the state of the world."

"But I don't see many or any elderly actually. And how have you been spared?" Aaron asked.

"Unfortunately it's wiped out most of this community. I have no idea how I have avoided it. My brother Scott—he's the one trying to feed that lady in the corner—and I avoided it. The only ones here left standing are the kids," Melanie said.

"So Gabi and Rebecca are ok?" Priscilla asked.

"Last time I knew, they were ok. Your husband wanted to avoid getting it and left town. He took over his brother's farmstead. I haven't seen them in over a week, so I couldn't tell you. I've been busy here, I'm sorry," Melanie said.

"How old are you?" Charlie felt inspired to ask.

"Twenty-three," Melanie said. "Same as my brother. We're twins. Why?"

Charlie didn't say anything to that. She had thought Melanie was a decade older. Of course, she'd been tending to a dying town and that would age anybody. "What's the age of the oldest person who died and the youngest?"

"Al Trowbridge was sixty four and the oldest," Melanie said. Her voice caught when she continued, clearly indicating she had been friends with the victim, "And the youngest was twenty-six, Brenda Crowley. Why?"

"Just curious," Charlie said but her wheels were spinning. She was trying to link her own experience with the typhus epidemic in Willoughby (coincidentally a town also inhabited by the Patriots) with this epidemic. Patriots had spread that through infected oranges. How had they managed to spread influenza to only the adults this time? How were the kids (mostly) not getting infected anyway? There had been cases of the measles in Sylvania estates and Maggie had always demanded the infected persons be separated from the rest of the community until they were better. She'd feared it spreading and a rash of complications that could come with it now that they were without modern medicine conveniences. "I noticed you had a Patriot flag out front."

Melanie smiled. "Yes. The Patriots were here but they left once Texas declared war on them. I don't really understand why. They were very helpful to us."

"How so?" Aaron asked.

"They provided us protection. We're several hours away from the nearest Ranger post and we had an issue with a war clan about six months ago," Melanie explained. "Patriots showed up because they said they have been tracking the clans through the Plains Nation. They got here just in time. Then they stuck around to help us. We've been trying to rebuild things after a tornado came through last year and took down some more buildings. Then they gave us the vaccines which was so helpful. It was only a shame they didn't have one for the influenza," Melanie said regretfully looking back inside.

The word vaccine piqued Charlie's brain but she still couldn't tie all the ends of her thoughts together into a perfect knot.

"What did they have?" Priscilla asked.

"Smallpox vaccine." Melanie said. "They said they had come across smallpox during their travels. They were trying to stop it before it spread further. They said vaccinations had once gotten rid of it before."

"Where?" Priscilla asked.

Melanie shrugged apologetically. "Probably in the Plains because that's where they came from."

"How in the world did they have a vaccine?" Aaron wondered.

Melanie shook her head, unknowing. "I don't know. I know it was a surprise and a relief to Doc Briar. About three years ago we had an outbreak—that was scarlet fever—and several people died because we didn't have some medicine. One of them was his son."

Aaron and Priscilla nodded knowingly. "Yeah. It is treatable with antibiotics. Without it, it can be fatal."

"Patriots said they've been giving it to their soldiers. As a precaution while they were fighting those war clans," Melanie explained. "Doc Briar took the first vaccine and when nothing happened to him, all the adults said yes."

"But you didn't?"

"No, we had the shot too," Melanie said.

"And you haven't gotten sick?" Aaron asked. "Anyone else?"

"No we haven't. There are four others who haven't gotten sick either." Melanie said. She lowered her voice, "They are gone now taking care of the ones who died overnight."

"Has everyone who's been sick died?" Charlie asked.

Melanie's face fell. "So far. Most seemed to have recovered, but then they all relapsed and it was worse than before. Many ended up with pneumonia." She pointed out a small boy, much thinner and sickly looking than his cohorts who was hanging up clothes over a banister. "Henry is one of the kids who were sick."

"You're sure my husband and kids are okay?" Priscilla asked again.

"They were the last time I saw them. I'm sorry, I don't know what to say to you," Melanie said. "With only a handful of us to take care of the sick and the children, it's been a bit much."

"No. I understand. Can you tell me how to get to the homestead?" Priscilla asked. Melanie readily gave directions and the three of them returned to their horses to take the nearly hour ride out to finally find Priscilla's family.

* * *

**Several Weeks Prior**

**North of the Texas Border, Plains Nation **

_Connor was pissed off. Charlie had no right to talk him that way. Stupid bitch. He wasn't nothing. He wasn't a coward or a weakling that needed other people. No matter what she said, that republic was his not hers. She'd never take it from him. He'd rebuild the whole damn thing himself. He didn't need anybody to make him king. _

_The horse whinnied unhappily when Connor yanked on his reins. Connor was jolted when his dead mother appeared before him. She was as lovely as his memory recalled. Creamy white skin, flaming red hair. The boy in Connor wanted to weep for his mother. Even as the image of her recalled all the old resentment that she had just cast him aside without a second thought. _

_"__What are you doing Connor?" Emma asked._

_"__What I should have done all along," Connor told her and ordered his horse to move once again. Ghost Emma kept up, walking backwards so that he had to look at her as he rode. "Taking what belongs to me."_

_"__And what's that?" Emma asked._

_"__This entire country will be mine," Connor said. "I'll be in control and I won't have to do what anyone else tells me to do anymore."_

_"__Who told you what to do?" _

_"__You for starters," Connor said. There was a piece of his brain that understood he wasn't really talking with his mother; though he had no idea what it was he really was talking to. But because it looked like her without being her it gave Connor the courage to finally say all the things that had festered inside of him. "You told me lies my entire life about my father. Then you told me to go to Mexico when I didn't want to go and you wouldn't come with me when I asked you to. You said you needed to stay in Jasper. _

_"__Then Nunez lied to me and said I was like a son. But all he wanted was my servitude. Tried to kill me. Then my father lied to me when he promised me a republic and then picked Miles Matheson over me. Every one of you promised me things and all of you were liars. No one keeps their word. But I'm going to. I'm going to lead the republic."_

_"__Is that who I raised you to be?"_

_"__You didn't raise me!" Connor shouted. _

_"__I did what was best for you, Connor," Emma said. "I was trying to protect you."_

_"__By abandoning me?" Connor whispered, the admission stealing the rage from him. _

_"__But if you come with me now, I can make up for it. I can make you happy," Emma said. "We can be together again, son."_

_"__How?" Connor wondered._

_"__Follow me to Bradbury, Connor."_

_Stupid fuckin' Bradbury, Idaho again, Connor thought. He didn't know what was so damn special about the place but if it was where lunatics like Neville (and apparently himself as he knows he's carried on a conversation with thin air for the last several minutes) were making a pilgrimage to, Connor knew it wasn't a place he wanted to go. "No. Leave me alone."_

_Emma gave him the same displeased face he used to get when he was a boy. A man of twenty-five and he wanted nothing more than to shrink in the saddle under his mother's glare. "Connor Bennett, I'm your mother and you will listen to me."_

_"__You're not my mother," Connor said defiantly. Whatever the illusion Emma was going to say was cut off by terrified screams coming from the woods. The sound distracted Connor and the image of his mother disappeared. He turned his horse into the woods to see what the hell was going on._

* * *

**A/N: **Also huge thank you to everyone who commented on ch.14! It meant SO MUCH! I'm sorry everybody's feels were a bit bruised and I'm sorry this chapter didn't make it all better but I'm hoping it'll be worth it in the end. This chapter was about building up the rest of the story b/c I did set out to do my version of season 3, which includes the Nano and the Patriots (What have I gotten myself into?!) Thanks for reading and I hope you leave me a comment with your thoughts.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 16_**

**Disclaimer: They are still not mine. If they were I'd have #RelocateRevolution done by now. **

**A/N: **This one is for IceonFire7 because: 1) She is one of the nicest people I've chatted with since joining this fandom. She is constantly supportive. (And seriously talented people. Check out her works if you haven't.) 2) She and I share a certain obsession over a certain part of Bass (DIRTY MINDS PEOPLE!) 3) For reasons she'll understand after reading. ; )

* * *

**Ardmore, Northern Texas, formerly of Oklahoma**

Charlie, Priscilla and Aaron approached the white clapboard farmhouse with caution. There were animals running around in between the porch and the barn. Both the white paint of the house and the red paint of the barn were chipped. An empty tire swing swung in the wind off a long tree limb. They were prepared to find the house abandoned when the front door flew open and a young child stomped across the front porch and sat moodily on the stairs, pouting.

"Becca," Priscilla whispered and tears sprang to her eyes in anguished relief. She dismounted her horse throwing the reins, which Charlie hastily caught. Priscilla then ran—stumbled really from her graceless dismount—in the direction of her daughter. "Becca! Rebecca!"

The little girl's head shot up and then when she noticed her mother she jumped down the steps and raced to meet her mother. Priscilla fell to her knees to embrace her daughter, swaying her back and forth, petting her hair. Something in the image twisted in Charlie. Her own reunions with her mother had been less than ideal. Charlie had no image of her mother ever running toward her; Rachel's most enduring image was walking away from her. Of course, now there was that last look she'd seen on her mother's face that kept haunting her, stealing her limited sleep…

_"__Charlie, are you okay?" Aaron asked._

_"__I'm fine, Aaron," Charlie said by rote. As if the more she said it the more likely it was to become true._

_"__So you and Monroe, huh?" Aaron asked. He had been completely taken aback to learn that Charlie and Monroe had returned to Austin together—in every sense of the word. But love made fools of us all, he'd thought. And ever observant, Aaron feared that had become the case, especially in the hasty way Charlie had left Austin behind. Aaron had known that Gene and Rachel had returned from Willoughby, but Charlie had made him swear to let her tell her mom so he hadn't said anything to Rachel. As he and Priscilla sat eating dinner that last night in Austin, he heard some murmurs from the Rangers about a scene at the General's tent. Shortly thereafter a pale, visibly shaken Charlie had announced their departure. _

_Aaron looked at Charlie. She was still pale—she hardly ate anything even as she caught food for him and Priscilla to eat—and the circles under her eyes were darkening every day. The girl wasn't sleeping, he knew. She always insisted on taking watch and usually waited until a couple hours before dawn to ask for relief. She tossed and turned those two hours and woke up less rested than before she lay down. If all the signs were true, Aaron guessed Charlie was suffering from a broken heart._

_He couldn't understand why. As much as the revelation about her and Monroe being together had shocked the hell out him, Aaron had been forced to admit that Monroe actually cared about Charlie. He'd watched the former dictator around the camp. His eyes always sought out Charlie, he took care of her and he was always on the lookout for Charlie's return if she'd left camp for any reason. Monroe clearly was smitten—hell Aaron would even gander a guess and say Monroe was in love with Charlie. From the way Charlie had been with Monroe, Aaron suspected it hadn't been one-sided. _

_Unless something bad had happened while telling Rachel about her new relationship with Monroe. Aaron knew Rachel would never handle it well. Charlie and Rachel's relationship was always a volatile one. Both seemed more inclined to smack the other as hug them. Aaron hadn't expected the reveal to be a smooth one; but he also hadn't expected Charlie to run either. And that's exactly what this felt like—running. Even if she had, why had she run from Monroe? They'd seemed entirely wrapped up in each other. _

_"__I don't want to talk about it," Charlie said. And she didn't. She didn't even want to think about him but her mind wasn't listening. Words he'd whispered into her ear for just her to know echoed still in her mind. Touches he'd shared with just her ghosted upon her skin. Feelings he'd stirred in her trembled inside. Sebastian Monroe was haunting her, which was ironic because she'd never felt so alone. _

_"__What happened, Charlie? Please tell me," Aaron asked._

_Charlie shook her head. She couldn't say the words. It was bad enough they kept clashing inside her skull but she couldn't convince her tongue to say them. Then she'd have to taste them and Charlie didn't know if she could endure it. She shook her head in reply to Aaron. "Forget it, Aaron. Please." _

* * *

Rebecca Taylor led her mother and her two companions into the house. The only sound in the quiet house was the sound of water dripping and a wheezing sound. They moved through the hallway and down to a bedroom. There on a bed was a man—or rather the skeleton of a man. He had the gaunt look of the truly sick, his skin was the weird mix of yellow over pale skin, and his skin was pulled too tight over bones that stuck out at all angles. The wheezing was from his shallow breaths that rattled around in his body before being pushed out like it was poison.

"Greg!" Priscilla cried and ran towards the bed.

"Mom?" asked the girl in the room. The sound of water had been her wringing out a cloth that she used to dampen her father's forehead.

"It's me, Gabi," Priscilla said. Gabi started to tear up but bit her lip and returned to tending to her failing father. For Charlie knew the truth—Greg Taylor was going to die. Whatever virus that had ravaged Ardmore had also ravaged his body. Priscilla however moved towards her daughter, who was clearly the oldest, and pulled her into a hug. The girl—who looked about Charlie's age when her own mother had left her—resisted and then submitted to the hug. A sob tore through the girl and she clung helplessly to her mother.

Charlie signaled to Aaron and they left them alone in the room. The house was stifling hot so they sat on the porch. They occupied the top step and said nothing. Murmured voices and some more crying drifted through the screen door. Charlie looked over at Aaron. He had his stoic face on. The face that clearly said he hated what was going on but he would endure it anyway. "Are you okay?"

Aaron shrugged. "I'm fine."

Charlie could bet just how fine he was. The same kind of fine she was these days. "You can tell me you know."

He gave her a withering look. "Like you've been so forthcoming?"

Charlie figured she walked into that and said nothing. Aaron continued to say nothing, much to her frustration. It wasn't that she wanted to pry but she figured there was a lot going on inside Aaron and he probably could use somebody to talk to. He was like her in that way—they very rarely opened up, choosing instead to keep things locked inside. Well, she'd been that way until Bass. Something in him was like a key to her lock and she couldn't help but let loose things she normally kept to herself. Damn it. She cursed herself for thinking of him. She had left for space. And space seemed to be the last thing Sebastian Monroe wished to grant her.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Aaron's face had turned morose. He was stubborn as hell—like she. She had always thought of him as an honorary uncle. Her family had taken him in when she'd been young and he'd always been there for her and Danny. He'd even marched to Philadelphia to rescue Danny from Monroe. (Damn it! again) So Charlie knew that he would not speak until she finally opened up to him about why she'd left Austin.

"My mom found out about me and Monroe," Charlie said to break the ice.

"I figured as such," Aaron said.

"Well it went just about as well as you could imagine it," Charlie told him.

"I'm surprised you ran away. That's not like you Charlie. You face things head on normally. The only other time I've seen you leave…"

"Had to do with my mother too," Charlie said. They both thought of when she'd left Willoughby for several months. Charlie just hadn't been able to be around Rachel anymore. She helped Miles get her to Gene's and then she needed a break, a breather that was the constant exhaustion of Rachel Matheson. Her mother had worn her out as a child with her constant sense of disappointment in Charlie; she wore her out in her long absence because Charlie's grief and bitterness had hung like an albatross on her neck; she had tired her out further when Rachel had chosen to leave her just after Danny died, even though they'd only been reunited briefly; Rachel had damaged Charlie even more when she had abandoned her in the tower to let Charlie watch a friend die and then proceeded to check out because the stress of everything had become too much for _Rachel_ to endure. And now, now Charlie was afraid her own mother had broken her. Charlie didn't see how she could ever get over something like that.

"I heard there was a scene," Aaron commented.

"Oh yeah, there was a scene. A lot of threats and accusations thrown about," Charlie admitted. "And truths. Dark truths revealed."

"Huh?" Aaron asked perplexed.

"They slept together," Charlie whispered, barely able to force the air to expel the words. Those words that had been rattling around in her like poison—like the air in Greg Taylor's body—burned on their way out. Letting go hurt just like holding on did.

"Who did?" Aaron asked and then the light dawned. "Monroe and Rachel? Oh my God. When?"

"Years ago in Philly," Charlie admitted.

"That sucks, kiddo," Aaron said regretfully. "But why leave? It was long before you even knew him."

"It wasn't the truth, though that is admittedly awkward," Charlie said. "It's the lying. He never said a word to me. And she…"

"Rachel what?"

Charlie looked at Aaron and said nothing for a while. He had a face you could trust. She'd known him more than half her life. But he was also friends with her mother. So she kept it generic, "Rachel only told me because she was mad. She said it to be mean and it worked."

Aaron wrapped an arm around Charlie's shoulder and hugged her close. "So now it's your turn."

"It's weird being here, seeing this whole other life that Priscilla has. She has a new husband and they have two kids," Aaron said. "I know it's my fault. _I left her_ and I have no right to be upset that she moved on to someone else."

His words pierced Charlie with a new horror to live with. She had walked away but could she tolerate Bass moving on? He'd told her he'd never love after her. Maybe it wouldn't be love, but there could be someone else to fill her spot in his life, in his bed and possibly in his heart. As angry as Charlie felt, she didn't think she could endure that. _You made your bed and now you have to lie in it,_ Charlie scolded herself. _You chose to lie in it with Monroe. Then you chose to lie in it alone. Miles told you he was a notorious womanizer. You can't expect him to pine after you forever._

"It's okay if it's hard for you, Aaron. You're only human," Charlie comforted.

"The thing is Priscilla did exactly what I wanted. She found someone to take care of her," Aaron said. "It's pretty clear that until he became sick this Taylor was once strong and brave. I got what I wanted. I guess I just never expected to have to swallow the bitter pill in her company."

Charlie patted Aaron's knee in comfort. "I'm a shit for a person for even thinking this way. In actuality, her husband is most likely dying. And all I'm thinking is this could have been us. We could have had two girls by now. I don't think I'm going to do much good here."

"Aaron, you always come through no matter how hard it is on you," Charlie told him. "There wasn't an easy part on that hike to Philadelphia. But you never gave up and you saved us all a few times. You don't give yourself enough credit. Sure it might be damn awkward for you here, but if Priscilla says that she needs your help you will suck it up and do it because that's just who you are. It's why you're the best person I know."

Aaron scoffed in disbelief. "Kiddo, that's you," Aaron told her. "You're the best one I know."

Charlie just smiled at him. She didn't really take it to heart. She never really judged herself in association with other people—whether she was better or worse than them. She just tried to do the best she could. If you took into consideration all the things most the people in her life had done, well, she probably did have a leg up on them but her slate wasn't clean either. "Do you think you'll be okay alone?" Charlie asked. "I've got a lot of thinking to do and I do that best when I'm busy. Besides, those girls look like they haven't eaten in days and he could definitely use some nutrition. I'm going to scrounge up some dinner."

Charlie left him there on the porch and walked into the barn. There were ten chickens still running around—apparently one or both of the girls had remembered to feed them. She saw no eggs, so that meant they had collected them too. She checked on the cow, which needed to be milked and got to work. This was stuff she was used to, in a former life. Sylvania Estates had been an agrarian place, with lots of wild life around and acres of crops surrounding it. It had been everyone's job to pitch in and help; in exchange, they paid the garrison with crops and they split the rest up amongst the families. Families were typically responsible for their own meat—except when it came time to butcher one of the animals in town. They tended to split that meat up—but Charlie rarely accepted that meat. She left that for people like Aaron and families who didn't have a decent hunter. The only time Charlie really accepted any of the meat was when they butchered some of their cows. Beef was a treat. It surprised her to learn that life pre-blackout had meant people could buy beef at any store, restaurant or fast food place without blinking. Charlie had forgotten about fast food restaurants with their playgrounds and gimmicky toys. It wasn't until Aaron had explained it to her that she remembered golden arches reaching up into the sky with the letter of her last name. It had almost looked like a beacon to a young Charlie.

Then, of course, Charlie had gotten older and the M-mark had come to mean Monroe Militia. That hadn't been a beacon but a dire warning to be heeded. Absently, Charlie brushed her hand over the militia mark burned onto her flesh. Something about that mark had changed the first time Bass had ever kissed it. But now looking at it, it only made her feel cold. There was no anxiety like it had caused when it was the militia; there was no fear when it had been the own sickening smell of her burned flesh. There was just a space—a void there now that she wasn't sure how to fill.

Why were people always taking people from her? Charlie wondered as she worked through the barn. Eventually she found a root cellar placed a way from the house and went down to see what was left.

Her mother had been taken. Her dad. Her brother. Her step mother. Her friend. Her first love—even though she'd pulled the trigger, he had been taken from her before then. Now, ironically, Bass had been taken from her. Had never really belonged to her despite all the pretty words. She wished she could hate him, that familiar burn that thrummed just under the skin that fueled her more than food or drink ever could. But she just couldn't. Maybe it was the way his agonized whisper kept repeating in her brain, _Charlotte, I love you. Charlotte, I love you. Charlotte…_

* * *

Bass figured he was slowly going insane again. Every minute he spent in the absence of Charlie felt like it was eating away at him. He couldn't squash this hope in him that Charlie would come back. Or the crushing despair that every week she was gone meant she had gotten further away from him. She had told him so many times that she wasn't going anywhere when he tried to push her away. She had told him that it would be her choice to leave. And it had been. But God he had not expected it to be over Rachel and that night.

He never even thought of that night in Philly. And as far as he was concerned, the only damn good thing that came out of the Patriots nuking the city was that the room that the horrible, offending act had occurred in had been reduced to ash. If only there had been a way to nuke the memory from his brain; as it was, he suppressed it down and deep. When his legs had somehow remembered to function after Charlie's leaving had cut them out from under him, Bass had wanted to march to Rachel and snap her neck.

But she was still Charlie's mother and despite all the things that Charlie had told him during their trip—_Why hadn't they just kept riding past Austin?! _he wondered for the umpteenth time—he doubted she would be pleased that he had killed her mother. Not that she'd ever know because Charlie wasn't going to come back. _I'm not your baby. Goodbye, Monroe._

She'd used Monroe again. She'd already detached herself from him and he had been blindsided. Walking into her tent, he hadn't been prepared for her to just walk away. He thought they'd have a rip-roaring fight and then carry on as they had. Bass hadn't known that learning about that night with Rachel would hurt Charlie so much. But of course he should have. All he had to do was think about finding her in flagrante delicto with his son. That image had wormed its way into his brain and driven him mad.

There had definitely been signals between him and Charlie. And damn it, he was old enough to know the damn difference. How the hell had he been taken so surprised by her picking Connor? Maybe because she'd never even hinted that she thought of Connor that way, meanwhile the two of them were sharing all these intense looks and unspoken words.

"Bass you in there?" Miles interrupted Bass' thoughts. Thankfully. He hated to dwell on that godforsaken image burned into his brain.

"Yeah. Come in," Bass called out.

Miles walked in and looked around in mild disgust. Granted it was only a tent but Bass had things strewn about, including several empty liquor bottles and items of clothing left haphazard. Bass always managed to walk out of the tent with the impression that he was a man keeping it together; he hid his devastation for the privacy of his tent. And devastated was the only way Miles could describe his best friend. Charlie had definitely stolen something from Bass when she'd left, but he seemed hell bent on keeping his word that he wouldn't go off the deep end. That he wouldn't dishonor Charlie that way. In her presence, Bass had seemed healthier and certainly a lot closer to the brother he'd once known. Even in her absence, Charlie still seemed to be the only thing keeping him together—barely.

"Got a report from Blanchard. Son of a bitch wants us to carry on to Nashville as planned," Miles explained.

"Figured. Did the Rangers get back to Austin okay with Vasquez and the others?" Bass asked.

"Yes. He thanked us for sending the bodies back so the families could bury them," Miles said. "But we need to talk about how we are going to get to Nashville."

Bass nodded his head in agreement. "The biggest obstacle by far is that bitch of a river," Bass said in reference to the Mississippi.

"Exactly. I think we're taking a huge risk by trying to cross over this close to the old Georgia Federation lines," Miles said.

"You're right. But going the long way is certainly going to slow us down getting to Nashville," Bass agreed.

Miles shook his head. "I don't think there's any other way. We head north to Missouri/Illinois where the Republic was in charge of the crossings. We might get lucky and find one that's still in the hands of the militia."

"The added bonus we might find more men to add to our army," Bass added. They'd had two more skirmishes with the Patriots since Little Rock. They'd lost ten more men. "That is, of course, as long as Blanchard isn't right and they don't kill us on the spot."

Miles shrugged, unconcerned. There was always some fight or problem to be had. He was learning to roll with the damn punches. "I'll make sure to push you out first then," Miles said and turned to leave the tent. "You were after all the President _and_ the General."

"Only because you left you traitorous bastard," Bass reminded. He wasn't going to ask but he couldn't _not_ ask either. He stopped Miles before he left the tent. "Miles, any word…?" _From her_?

Miles turned and shook his head with honest regret. "No. Nothing. She'll come back, Bass. When she's ready," Miles said. Bass just nodded, unable to speak. "Though, why you'd want her to come back to this mess is beyond me. She'd just freakin' leave again. And shave, you ugly bastard. You look like shit."

"Yeah well get a fuckin' haircut," Bass shot back. "You look old." He'd said those words instead of the ones that had caught in his throat. He'd begun to fear that they hadn't heard anything because there wasn't anyone to be heard from anymore. They had no idea where she, Staypuft and his crazy girlfriend had headed. They could have come across Patriots or any other number of dangers. She could be dead and he wouldn't know it.

After Miles left, Bass looked around the tent. Disgusted he cleaned up as much as one could a tent in the middle of an army camp. He ran his hand over his beard; it had gotten a little unseemly. Bass recalled all the times that Charlie had rubbed her face against the scruff. He grabbed a bowl and went out to get water at the well.

"She's gone because of you," the voice spoke to him. The very sound raised the hackles on his back.

"Actually, Rachel, I'm pretty sure it was you," Bass said as he pumped up water from the well until his bowl held enough water for him to do the job right.

"Me? I'm her mother," Rachel reminded.

"Then how could you treat her that way?" Bass demanded, patience snapping, getting into Rachel's face.

"She needed to know who she had foolishly gotten into bed with," Rachel spat at him.

"You're a piece of a work. You really are a hypocritical bitch. Charlie _knew_ who I was," Bass told her. "I didn't keep anything from her. She told me all about herself too. So don't go thinking you're mother of the year here, Rachel, because you're not."

"Then why didn't you tell her about that night?"

"Because it meant nothing. Less than nothing to me," Bass snarled. "Contrary to what you might believe, I'm not one of your followers that chase you around with my tongue wagging. I'm a Monroe, not a fuckin' Matheson. And FYI, that night was hardly memorable. God knows Miles must love you because you're nothing more than an ice queen. I wasn't that big of a fan of yours twenty years ago because I thought you were using both Ben and Miles. Ben was the safe choice and Miles was the danger you craved."

"You're wrong. I loved them both," Rachel argued.

"I don't honestly think you're capable of loving anyone, Rachel. You live in your brain too much. You don't feel. If you can't think it, it doesn't count. But feelings aren't some mechanical fucking machine you can create, Rachel. _People aren't machines_, but you are the closest thing I've ever seen."

Rachel slapped him. But Bass didn't feel the need to slap her back. Honestly, he was rather disgusted by her. "Charlie wasn't a machine that you could program to feel and do what you wanted. She's smart and capable. And brave enough to stand by the choices she makes—no matter what—and that's nothing like you. You make excuses for everything and Charlie accepts responsibility for things she should never have to. _You left them willingly and Charlie picked up the slack_. I was wrong for holding you prisoner, no doubt. I know that and I'm sorry. It doesn't mean much but there you go. Do what you want with it. I don't care. _But you hurt Charlie to get back at me and I will never forget that Rachel_. And I don't think Charlie will either. You've got no one to blame but yourself when you never see your daughter again. Now get out of my face."

Bass grabbed his bowl of water and marched away from Rachel, feeling the high of righteousness. _No wonder Rachel always acts so self-righteous. It's pretty damn euphoric, _Bass thought as he reached his tent again. He took out a tiny mirror he had to begin trimming his beard and he was thrown headlong into a sweet moment with Charlie. He'd had not nearly enough of them with her—a lifetime would still be too short—but he treasured their weeks together.

_Bass could hear Charlie humming as she approached his tent. He waited before he began shaving because he'd have to focus on that and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist looking at Charlie—and probably cutting his face in the process. As it was, it was probably an unintentional act of self-defense that he waited. As soon as Charlie had entered the tent she had let out this horrified gasp and demanded rather accusatory, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"_

_Bass cocked his brow as if it all should be rather self-evident. "Shaving, of course."_

_"__Like hell you are!" Charlie refuted and walked over and stole the razor blade from his hand. _

_"__Charlie, I'm a General again. There's a dress code for that stuff. I can't be going around with facial hair," Bass said. It was a byproduct of his Marine days. But he resisted giving into the Marine haircut. No point it taking it too far he reasoned._

_"__You can't lead men unless you shave your beard?" Charlie asked, derision pouring out of her._

_"__It's proper. When I was the leader of the Republic…"_

_"__Fuck the Republic!" Charlie shouted. "And you better hurry up and get it back so that it can keep your bed warm because I sure as hell won't be."_

_"__Because I'm shaving my beard?" Bass asked incredulously. Charlie glared at him. "It's my face, Charlie. My beard."_

_Charlie pursed her lips and then straddled his lap. "Your face, Monroe. My beard," she said and scratched it with her cheek. "And besides…" She started to speak but let her words drift off. Bass hated that. He wanted her to know she could tell him anything even if she was currently being a little irrational. He grabbed her chin and turned her to look him in the eye. _

_"__And what, Charlie?"_

_"__I mean, it's hard enough that you'll have to be like _him_ sometimes but this way you'll look too much like him for my taste, Bass," Charlie confessed. She seemed ashamed by this admission and darted her eyes to look around at anywhere but him. _

_It was the first time Charlie had ever really let him know the trouble she carried around because of his past. She was normally so flippant about it that he just never gave it a thought. But that was stupid and selfish on his part. She told him that she forgave him every day. But to both look and act like General Monroe would be asking a lot for her to forgive. _

_"__I'm sorry. It's stupid. Do what you want. You're right. It's your face," Charlie said and moved to climb off his lap. Bass refused to let her go and held her hips so she couldn't move._

_"__No. It's not and you're not. And I should have thought of it, Charlie," Bass said. "I'm sorry that I didn't. You're so strong about everything that I never considered what it would do to you, Charlotte. Forgive me."_

_"__It's okay," Charlie said. "I probably overreacted."_

_"__I don't think so. I think you're reaction was justified," Bass refuted, though he was troubled. "Though I have to say it's troubling that you need something to convince yourself to be with me, to tell yourself that I'm a different man. But I suppose I've earned that."_

_Charlie reached up and grabbed his face again. She shook her head. "It's not that. It's like there are different people in you. But the guy I'm crazy about was this scruffy, down on his luck guy not the prick in the uniform. They both share a pretty face," she added to make him smile which worked. "But it's really the whole you that I adore, Sebastian. I prefer 'my Bass' to 'President Monroe' any day of the week. But I don't need excuses to be with you. I am because I want to be."_

_"__And you want to be with the me with the beard?" Bass surmised._

_"__Well yeah. I mean, it's sexy as hell, Sebastian," Charlie said and nibbled on his lip. "I'd be happy to show you what seeing you with this beard does to me, but I might lose my inspiration if you shave it off. But you do what you think is best," Charlie encouraged as she kissed around his face and across his chin to his ear where she bit his ear lobe and then bit and licked her way down his neck to his Adam's apple. She kissed her way back up his throat and then bit his chin._

_Bass was rock hard beneath her. "Well maybe I was a bit hasty," he reasoned. "You seem to have very solid arguments for your case. Of course, I'm going to need you to argue them further just to make sure." _

_Charlie pulled her shirt off and then returned the favor for him. She leaned down, kissing, nipping and licking her way across his chest until she took one of his nipples into her mouth and sucked. He arched in the chair underneath her ministrations. "Is my debate up to snuff?" Charlie inquired as she reached down and unbuckled and opened his pants, reaching inside to release him. She stroked him in her hand and Bass threw his head back as her hands toyed with him. His only reply was a heartfelt groan. "Tsk. Tsk. That's hardly a sound counterargument, Sebastian."_

_"__Charlie, you're killing me," he barely managed to get out. _

_"__Hmm," Charlie said and feigned consideration. "I suppose we should stop then. I mean, these guys need a leader."_

_"__We'll risk it. They've got Miles," Bass told her and she laughed. _

_She stood up, releasing him and she finished undressing before him. Then she leaned over and pulled his pants down further, while he pushed up to help her. "Well if you're sure," Charlie said. Then she took him in her mouth. Her tongue flicked his engorged tip, already leaking, and then she used her tongue and lips to pleasure the rest of his cock as deep as she could take him. He was large—too large for her mouth—so she used her hand as well. "God, Charlotte…we gotta stop or I'm going to come."_

_She licked from the base to the tip one final time and then climbed onto his lap before guiding him into her. Her heat was slick with anticipation and Bass groaned as her tightness sheathed him. At this angle she could take him deep and he held her hips while she set the pace. She started out slow, easily rocking back and forth before the friction got the better of her. She started rocking harder and he helped push her up while thrusting up as he pulled her back down. Each connection drawing a small cry of pleasure from her. Bass could feel his release coming close and used the pad of his thumb on Charlie's bundle of nerves and watched as she went flying over first and that vision gave him his release._

_"__So my beard really does all that for you?" Bass gasped as Charlie had collapsed over him, pressing his back painfully into the chair. Not that he cared. That was the best damn argument he'd ever had. _

_"__Oh, yeah. But again, you do what you want," Charlie said nonchalant._

_He leaned over and bit her shoulder for her insolence. He felt her smile on his shoulder. "You won this round, brat."_

_"__Were we surprised?" Charlie asked and then kissed him deeply._

Bass swore at the pain that slashed across him, even as the memory made him smile. With Charlie in mind he sat down to trim his beard—which he had admittedly neglected lately—but not shave it off. Even if Charlie wasn't here anymore, he still wanted to be her Bass. Keeping the beard was like keeping that promise to her. Besides, maybe one day, someday, she'd return. He wanted her to find her Bass here waiting for her.

* * *

**A/N2: **See, Ice? If Charlie had a Twitter account she too would have freaked out last spring during #Beardgate! #DLNoBeard hysteria lives forever. ; ) To Everyone - I hope this little bit helped soothe some of your hurts during this part of the story. Now please be dears and review! It's fuel for the inspiration I need to write. Thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 17_**

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. I've been working hard at research and more plot planning. With some luck the next chapter should be posted this week. Thanks for reading and please leave me a comment at the end! : )

* * *

**Ardmore, Texas, formerly of the state of Oklahoma**

Charlie set bowls on the table, full of a chicken stew she had made by killing a couple of the chickens and raiding the storm cellar. She had saved out broth to be spoon fed to Greg, because even if he was going to die, Charlie figured starvation shouldn't be the way. Both girls looked near sickly themselves because it was clear they hadn't been eating properly. Gabi looked at her with these soulful, sad eyes and had touched something in Charlie. She was trying so hard to stay strong and take care of her father and her sister. She reminded Charlie of herself.

Gabi had come out from the bedroom while Charlie had worked around the kitchen. She hadn't said much but had just watched Charlie with those soulful eyes. Charlie understood and had asked for Gabi to help her. It was always better, Charlie knew, to do something than wait for something to be done. Charlie had taken so much in her hands—studying and learning as much as she could about everything as a young girl because knowing meant being able to do something, meant surviving. Charlie had focused on the practical skills needed to live in today's world. But because she was Ben's daughter she'd also been forced to take classes with Aaron and do all the work that Ben (and Maggie) would set out for her to do. As Charlie rarely slept, she hadn't complained about all the extra work from the school because it would occupy her night hours. She'd think about a story or a math problem while hunting to keep her mind occupied as she waited to find prey.

Therefore Charlie understood the importance of doing and recognized the need in a young Gabi Taylor. Charlie had been younger than her when her own brother had been left in her hands.

"The broth we made will do your dad good, Gabi," Charlie said and received a shy smile. The girl was pleased to do anything to help her dad but was still leery of the strangers in her house. So far neither girl had said boo to either her or Aaron. While Gabi brought the broth into her father's room so he could be fed, Charlie had heaped extra helpings of the stew into the girls' bowls. They needed the extra nourishment. She then carried the tray into the bedroom so the girls could eat in with their father. Even if he was sick, he was still here, and Charlie knew that when they were older the girls would hate every second they had spent away from him.

Priscilla came out later to eat her dinner. Charlie and Aaron sat around the table having already eaten. "How is he doing?" Charlie asked.

"Not good," Priscilla said in a broken whisper.

"I'm sorry, Priscilla. Is there anything we can do?" Charlie asked.

Priscilla shook her head. "No. It's a waiting game. But thank you Charlie. And thank you for everything you did today. Gabi told me you took care of the barn and then made dinner. You let her help. That was very kind."

"It was no trouble. I wish I could do more," Charlie confessed.

"I'm going to leave," Aaron announced, earning shocked gasps from both women.

"Why?" Priscilla murmured.

"Somebody has to go and find some Texas Rangers. They have to know what the Patriots did to this place. I mean, we are all in firm agreement that they are responsible for all this, right?" Aaron said.

"Yes. They did the same thing in Willoughby. They set up an attack with a war clan from the Plains Nation. Then they created an epidemic of typhus," Charlie said. "This has their fingerprints all over it. But I just don't get how."

"How what?" Aaron asked.

"How did they do it?" Charlie explained. "In Willoughby they gave out oranges and infected the oranges of people they deemed inappropriate for their perfect society. How the hell did they do it this time?"

"Maybe they contaminated the vaccines?" Priscilla asked.

"But then why didn't more of the kids get sick?" Aaron inquired.

"Not all adults got sick," Charlie reminded. "There was still Melanie and her brother Scott. And whoever else she was talking about that lived."

"So are you saying that they gave kids vaccines but the adults a virus?" Aaron asked. "That still doesn't explain why a few kids got sick."

"Some people used to get sick from vaccines," Priscilla said. "If I remember correctly, smallpox was a live vaccine and there was always the chance that if the injection site wasn't properly cared for you could develop symptoms. But none of what we saw in that quarantine building were symptomatic of smallpox."

"Are the symptoms the same between smallpox and influenza?" Charlie asked.

"In the beginning, but by now those patients should all have the lesions associated with smallpox. Or would it be cowpox because that's the virus inside the vaccine? Either way, maybe this _is _an outbreak?" Priscilla wondered.

The wheels where turning in Charlie's head but for some reason there were gears not working. She knew she was missing something. In some ways she wished her mother was here because as annoying and sanctimonious as she was, Rachel Matheson tended to get things before anyone had even done anything. She was smart; she could riddle this out. Charlie wasn't dumb, she knew that. Maybe if life had been different, Charlie could have competed with her mother's intelligence.

_She was smart enough to know just what to say to drive you away from Bass_, Charlie thought bleakly. Her mother must have known Bass hadn't told her about that night. God, how she hated thinking of that night. Horrible mental images invaded her mind of Bass kissing her mother, undressing her, touching her the same way he'd touched her so many times, her mother experiencing the delicious thrill of Bass filling her up. His low, sexy voice whispering words of passion into her ear. In Charlie's mind, in her unrelenting fucking nightmares, it was always some passionate, torrid one night stand. Charlie had come to know Bass quite well as a lover; and it made her ill beyond words to imagine her mother and Bass driving each other to the same heights of passion that she and Bass had driven each other to. _I'm the one he wants_ repeated again and again. They were repeated in round with some of Bass' older words spoken to her just before their reluctant partnership had been formed. That had been just before all those crazy signals had been shared; when Charlie's own thoughts about Monroe had become confused and jumbled. _You might be trying to run away from your mom, but you are a hell of a lot like her. _Had that been what had attracted Monroe to her? She thought he'd said the words just to piss her off, but maybe they'd also been some kind of unintentional warning that she hadn't heeded.

Was Charlie really just a stand in even with Bass? Why else wouldn't he have told her? It was years ago, it's not like Charlie would really have any right to be pissed off about it. Miles, yes; but her, no. It was before she and Bass ever met. It didn't mean it wasn't kind of awkward. But hell, she'd only recently slept with his son—and that had been while all their rather mixed signals were being exchanged—so she doubted she had much room to judge. But it was the secrecy that kept tripping her up. Why keep it a secret unless it meant something? Something he knew he couldn't have because Rachel wanted Miles. Had Bass settled for the next best thing?

* * *

Aaron left the next day with supplies and a weapon that Charlie forced him to take. She didn't like sending Aaron out there on his own but she didn't feel right leaving the homestead either. Priscilla was trying so hard to take care of her husband and her two girls—and they were all the time crowded around his bedside in constant vigil. But there were practical matters to be taken care of. The girls needed to eat and the small farm needed constant work.

On the sixth day after Aaron left, Priscilla came out to sit with Charlie on the porch. The early evening air was a welcome relief from the sweltering Texas sun. They were creeping into autumn but someone had forgotten to memo the sun. "His fever broke," Priscilla said with relief.

"That's good news," Charlie said.

"Yes. He should wake up and be more lucid now," Priscilla said gratefully. "I think we might have gotten him through the worst of it. Thank you so much for all your help."

"You're welcome," Charlie said. Melanie's words about how people had appeared to get better before relapsing chimed in Charlie's head but she didn't say anything to discourage Priscilla. Hope was a powerful thing. Even the idea of hope could see people through dark times. But even without Melanie's words, Charlie knew from her years of experience with Maggie that a lot of time the sickly got better just before they passed. Charlie didn't understand why or how. Maybe it was fate's way of giving a person a last chance to appreciate their life before they lost it. Charlie had made broth for Greg Taylor every day to keep him nourished and to keep him hydrated. Even still, he was quite emaciated. Whatever the Patriots had given him had been incredibly thorough in its murderous ravishing of his body.

"And thank you for all you've done with Gabi. I can't tell you what that means to me. She really looks up to you."

"She's a great girl," Charlie said.

In the intervening days since their arrival, Gabi had become this quiet second shadow to Charlie. When she wasn't locked in the room with her family, Gabi was found following Charlie. For days the girl hadn't spoken a word; that was until today.

_"__How did you get so good at all this stuff?" Gabi asked as they milked the cow for the second time that day. _

_Charlie worked to school her surprise at hearing the girl's voice. Charlie had adjusted to working in companionable silence with her. "Someone taught me how to do it," Charlie said._

_"__But you know everything—how to take care of the animals, you can hunt and you can cook," Gabi rattled off clearly impressed. _

_"__Except bread," Charlie said with a smile. Yesterday she and Gabi had attempted making bread. It had been an unmitigated disaster and the charred remains had been thrown outside and proceeded to crumble like dark ash on the ground. So far the birds hadn't even been tempted by it. _

_"__Except bread," Gabi said with a laugh. "But you can do everything else."_

_"__We all have our strengths, Gabi. I'm not good at everything. But I certainly tried really hard to know about all this stuff as much as possible for survival," Charlie explained. "You see, when I was your age I had a younger brother to take care of. We were about the same age apart as you and Becca are. He was my responsibility. But he was sick a lot and needed to be taken care of. I learned to do all these different things because I needed to know how to protect and take care of him."_

_"__Where is your brother?" Gabi asked in the sweet innocence of children. A person was never not here because they were dead; they weren't here simply because they were away doing something else, anything else. _

_"__He died," Charlie said and felt the loss anew._

_"__Do you think my dad's going to die?" Gabi asked. _

_Yes, but Charlie would never say such a thing to the girl. "I think we are all doing the best we can to help him," Charlie said diplomatically._

_"__All those other people back in town died," Gabi acknowledged._

_"__But we are here. Maybe that'll make a difference," Charlie said._

_"__I think it's my fault because I didn't know how to take care of him, Becca and the farm," Gabi said mournfully. For the first time Gabi's stoic façade broke and she started softly weeping. Charlie did the only thing she could think of and wrapped her arms around the girl. She pulled her into her lap and gently rocked her. She thought of Danny and all the times when they'd been Gabi and Becca's age and she'd comforted him after their mother had left them. Charlie had cried on the side of the road and had never cried after. There hadn't been time. Ben was sweet and smart but he hadn't had an aggressive bone in his body. Back then, when the militia and the Monroe Republic were still so new and society was only just beginning to return, it'd been eat or get eaten. The memory of her father's hesitation in shooting a man who had threatened her in exchange for all their food immediately after the blackout had never left Charlie since that day. Rachel had been the one to kill him to save a young Charlie. That moment had beaten a tattoo on her memory. Her mother wasn't there anymore and she didn't know if she could always rely on her dad. Charlie had taken up the mantle. _

_One interesting thing she had found was that knowledgeable adults were more inclined to teach her survival techniques with knives, archery, hunting, et cetera, than to her father. Charlie didn't know if it was scorn that a grown man hadn't known how to provide and protect his family no matter what the situation was or if it had been wariness in teaching a possible competitor. What did anyone have to fear from a ten year old girl? _

_But she'd known to keep her head down, her mouth shut and her eyes and ears open for any trick or skill. She pierced her hand through once, the first time she made her own arrows. Thankfully Maggie had been with them by then and had stemmed the flow of blood. All Charlie had now was a small scar from the stitches on the flesh between her thumb and left pointer finger. She had made mistakes at everything, too many times to count. But Charlie had kept going. It passed the time and gave her a way to feel like she was actually working on the one job she'd truly been tasked with: taking care of Danny. She remembered all too well the daily fear that she'd fail or had failed whenever he'd become sick and the countless hours spent up with him. _

_And the solid stone of her fear finally actualized sinking deep into her soul._

_She recognized that same fear and weight in Gabi and a piece of Charlie broke for her. She even felt slightly guilty because it was her parents who'd played a part in helping the Patriots end one world and create a world like this one. Charlie knew it wasn't her fault but it felt like guilt by association. _

"Do you think Aaron has found any help yet?" Priscilla asked.

"We aren't that far from Wichita Falls and last I knew there was a Ranger post there. But with the war, who knows if they still are. Blanchard is moving Rangers around like game pieces," Charlie said. "But if he reached it okay than yes. He should have found help there."

Operative word being "if." Both women were acutely aware of Aaron's lack of survival skills. Priscilla hadn't cared and a young Charlie had been resigned to another mouth to feed. It hadn't taken long but Charlie had grown to love Aaron like an honorary uncle and he and Ben had become close friends. They'd come across Aaron not that long after the blackout and had adopted him. Eventually he'd become family with his conspiracy theories (not so ludicrous now) and pithy one-liners about a time she could barely recall. After her mother had left, Charlie had just continued to include Aaron as part of the family she needed to look after. And he'd returned the favor tenfold. She could no longer imagine her life without Aaron. Therefore she and Priscilla quietly worried about Aaron because his survival skills mattered now. He needed to keep himself alive for them and also to bring help back to Ardmore.

Two days later Charlie was awoken from a recurring nightmare she'd been having lately by Priscilla's cries for help. Charlie rolled off the couch she'd turned into her bed and ran towards the bedroom.

"He's gasping for air. He can't breathe," Priscilla explained, panicked.

There was only one trick Charlie knew to help someone unable to breathe regularly. She climbed into the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around Greg's body and then very deliberately took steadily paced, even breaths. She'd used it many times on Danny during his asthma attacks. Eventually Greg's breathing regulated but his wheezing remained. Charlie could tell that Greg's fever had returned. It was as she'd feared. He'd only improved to become sick again. Once she was sure his breathing had calmed down, she climbed off the bed.

"How did you know to do that?" Priscilla asked.

"My little brother had asthma," Charlie said. "He used to gasp for breath like that. I wasn't sure it'd work but it was worth a shot. His fever is back. We need to be sponging him to control his temperature."

"If it gets too high he could seize and die," Priscilla said with worry.

"I know." Charlie had seen it a couple times in Sylvania Estates.

Charlie armed herself and then went out to the well to retrieve fresh water. She made three trips. One pail she set on to boil. She didn't know if they'd need it but sterilized water might not hurt.

Greg Taylor had been stripped down to his smallclothes and together she and Priscilla used strips of dampened, cool cloth to lower his temperature. Finally, moments before dawn their arduous hours paid off. His fever lowered. Charlie had left Priscilla to cool Greg down and had gone to the kitchen to brew something she'd seen Maggie use for those with fevers.

As the sun crested the sky, Charlie stood and stretched her aching back. Her muscles were stiff and sore and her body was bone weary. But Gabi and Becca would be up soon and the animals needed tending. Charlie stood by the window, letting the warming sun shine on her face and closed her eyes for thirty seconds. Then she willed herself to let that be enough to get her through the day.

"I'll get breakfast for the girls," Charlie said and turned towards the door.

"Go rest, Charlie. You've done enough," Priscilla encouraged from her spot by the bed. Priscilla—though focused on her family—was also worried about Charlie. It was clear that since they'd left Austin, Charlie didn't sleep much or very well when she did. She hunted and cooked but didn't eat much and she was losing weight. Charlie rarely took a moment to rest—moving from one chore to the other, helping her with Greg and keeping an eye on the girls. The mother in Priscilla worried that Charlie was pushing herself to her breaking point; the woman in her recognized the signs that Charlie's heart had already reached that point.

"That's the thing: there's always more to be done," Charlie said wryly then left.

She wasn't surprised to see both girls huddled together at the table. Their eyes clearly said they'd been awake all night as well. Gabi must have tended to Becca to keep out of her and their mom's way.

"Time to eat," Charlie said.

"How's my daddy?" Becca whispered.

Charlie took one of the other chairs and sat next to the girls. "He got sick again last night but your mom and I got the fever under control again."

"Is he going to die?" Becca wondered.

"Becca—" Gabi went to scold but Charlie interrupted her.

"I hope not. We are all doing the very best we can. And your dad is fighting just as hard as he can too. That's all any of us can expect from each other," Charlie said. She didn't believe in lying and despised giving out false hope. Maybe because she'd lived with it for so long hoping her mom would come back until the day they'd all realized—incorrectly—that she had died.

Charlie sent the girls to collect eggs and then sliced some of the bread Priscilla had made after it was clear Charlie was never meant to be a baker. Charlie settled into the routine of breakfast, dishes and chores. She didn't argue when both girls clung to her all day. The whole time she felt like she was being watched. She sent the girls in for a short time so she could patrol but found nothing and no tracks to speak of. But Charlie couldn't shake this feeling that she was being observed.

Inside, Priscilla continued to sit by her husband's side. She had resigned herself to only one grisly end after he'd taken sick again. She hated it because Greg Taylor was a good man who had saved her life and then given her love and a family. He didn't deserve this end. He didn't deserve not to watch their daughters grow up. But mostly she hated herself for wishing the end to come quickly. She couldn't bear watching him suffer and dwindle before her very eyes. Mainly, she couldn't live with the girls watching it. A child never forgets watching a parent die. She knew that all too well watching her father die of cancer—when even power and modern medicine hadn't been enough to stop those traitorous cells. How the hell could herbs and sponge baths defeat whatever poison the Patriots had given all of Ardmore?

There was only one thing that could. Priscilla had rebuked the Nano at first and then had surrendered to their twisted nirvana. She prayed to the Nano, to God, to anything that she could think of for a miracle.

When Greg opened his eyes and said her name, Priscilla was convinced she'd been granted one. "Priscilla, what are you doing here?" His voice was so hoarse that she gave him sips of water to soothe the dryness.

"I've been here for over a week, Greg. Some friends of mine helped me find you," she explained.

"The girls?"

"They're ok. They've been so scared. Poor Gabi was trying to take care of everything by herself," Priscilla said, unaware of the silent tears she wept.

"I'm so sorry I drove you away," Greg apologized. "I thought you would hurt them but I didn't end up protecting them any better."

"It's not either of our faults, Greg. And the Patriots did this to you," Priscilla said.

"No. The Patriots saved us—there was a war clan and they had medicine," Greg protested.

"Charlie, my friend who helped me find you, said they did the same thing to her town Willoughby. They set up the war clan to attack and they spread typhus through poisoned oranges to the town."

"Why?"

"Because they want to take over the entire continent."

"I knew it was too good to be true," Greg said. "But I was so relieved to see them that I ignored my instincts. I was terrified about the girls being taken by the war clan."

"It's understandable. We're all guilty of buying into a world that's too good to be real," Priscilla said.

"How are you? Are you okay?" Greg asked tentatively.

"It's a long story," Priscilla said. Then she proceeded to tell Greg everything. How back in college she helped create a code that was then used to program these nanites that Dr. Jane Warren had developed. Ben and Rachel Matheson had intended to use it as a way to create economical and environmentally friendly electricity, but instead the nanites absorbed all the power. An underground coup—this group called the Patriots—in the old U.S. government took over the project and created the blackout. There was a place called the Tower that Rachel and Aaron travelled to so the power could be turned back on. But it was a trap by the Patriots and they released the bombs. But the power surge woke up the nanites giving them a consciousness called the Nano. This had been haunting her in the guise of her dead father to lure her to Spring City, Oklahoma. There she met up with Aaron again and they went to Lubbock, Texas where they found their old friend Peter. The Nano wanted them to fix an error in their coding that was killing them. She and Aaron refused and the Nano took over their minds to trick them into helping which worked. But the Nano wouldn't let her go then, because they wanted to experience humanity through a human's perspective until Rachel and Aaron shocked her awake.

"You do realize you sound the opposite of okay?" Greg wondered.

"Yes. I'm firmly aware how insane my life has been these last several months. I wouldn't have risked bringing this into the girls' world except I heard what the Patriots have been doing and I needed to make sure our girls were okay. They are stealing kids and locking them in these reprogramming facilities and turning them into super-soldiers."

"So basically you created HAL and the Patriots are making evil Captain Americas. The world really has gone to hell, hasn't it?" Greg muttered.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault or not all of it. Even then I'm not really sure how much you can be blamed," Greg said. "This Charlie led you here?"

"Uh-huh. Aaron told me she's an excellent tracker. He was right," Priscilla said.

"Aaron? As in your ex-husband? I thought you said he died."

"I thought he had," Priscilla said. "He left me and I didn't think he knew how to survive. I was sure he would die separating himself from our group. But apparently not long after Charlie's family found him and took him in. He's been with them ever since."

"He abandoned you and then moves in with a new family?" Greg didn't disguise his disgust.

"It wasn't like that. He thought he was doing what was best for me," Priscilla argued. "Does it matter? If he hadn't, we would never have met and our daughters wouldn't be here."

Greg nodded slightly. "I guess I owe him a thank you then."

Priscilla opened the nightstand drawer and took out an envelope. "He left to find us help for Ardmore. The entire town is sick with this. But he left this for you." Priscilla stood up from her spot, her muscles screaming at the unfamiliar use. "I'm going to go get the girls so they can see you now that you're awake."

Greg opened the envelope after Priscilla left the room.

_Dear Greg, _

_My name is Aaron Pittman. And we have both had the unspeakable privilege of being married to Priscilla. She is a remarkable woman and I want to thank you for taking care of her and giving her a family over the last decade. _

_I'm sure you don't understand my decision to leave her all those years ago. After all, what kind of husband leaves his wife? However, I was a disaster then. I didn't know up from down in terms of survival. I was slowing our group down and I'd nearly gotten us killed more than once by my basic incompetence. I was more of a risk with her than I was letting her go with our group that was full of survivalist. I didn't let her go for my benefit, but for hers. I never intended to live much longer after I watched Priscilla and the others walk away from our campsite from my hidden spot. The fact that I have lived another fifteen years is owed to Charlie. _

_I'm leaving her behind with Priscilla and your daughters, who are beautiful and the spitting image of their mother. Congratulations on your remarkable family. It's all I ever wished for Priscilla, even when I could no longer give it to her. If I don't make it back to Ardmore with Rangers to help, trust Charlie. She'll keep you safe and she'll make sure your daughters are taken care of. She is so much more than she looks. I know she's young but she's the most capable person I know. Let her help your family and get out of Ardmore. There's nothing saying that the Patriots won't come back and I don't think you will want to stick around to see what else they can do to you. _

_Anyway, I want to finish by saying thank you again. I'm leaving this letter in case that I don't return. You gave Priscilla the life I always wanted to give her. Thank you for loving her the way she deserves. I sincerely hope you make a full recovery. Priscilla deserves nothing but goodness._

_Sincerely,_

_Aaron Pittman_

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know. You are all annoyed with me b/c a) they aren't reunited yet and b) Bass wasn't even in this chapter. I'm really sorry that people are all sad and frustrated that they aren't reunited right this second (how when they are in two different places I'd like somebody to tell me, lol). I hate it too. Also, it's kind of slowing me down because my Charloe heart is screaming for a reunion. But it's my story and I have to remain authentic to it. And unfortunately it demanded I do character development and plot and subplot development too. I was all "But I just want them marrrriiieeeeddddd with beautiful baaabbbbbiiiieeessss" from the first chapter. My bitchy, bossy muse said "No." Take it up with her. ; )


	18. Chapter 18

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 18_**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. I'm just borrowing them. All original characters are mine though. I'll trade them for Sebastian Monroe/David Lyons. Just sayin'. **

**A/N: There are some graphic details/images here. It's not too gratuitous but nevertheless I wanted to warn you. Also, Monroe is back. **

* * *

Charlie woke from her dream—though it felt more like a nightmare—to the sound of weeping. She slowly stumbled from her bed on the couch. The sound was coming from the girls' room. Her attention was momentarily distracted by a light shining in the window. She moved over and looked out. Dozens of fireflies were flittering on the front porch. They creeped Charlie out because she'd never seen fireflies glow or behave like that. It was almost as if they were peeping through the windows, which wasn't a disturbing thought at all. Stepping back from the window, Charlie turned around and walked down the hallway to the source of the weeping that had woken her up.

She pushed the door open. Gabi was curled on her bed, huddled under her blanket, but her form was shaking from the strength of her sobs. Charlie didn't know whether she should get Priscilla or not; she was dealing with so much as it was. Compassion compelled Charlie to step forward and sit on the bed and rub the girl's back in an attempt to soothe her. Eventually Gabi climbed out from underneath her covers and curled herself underneath Charlie's arm. Charlie just petted her hair and continued to rub her back as the crying continued.

_It was the day after Greg had woken from his fever induced sleep and he was craving sunshine. With help from Charlie and Priscilla he hobbled outside. They sat him on a swing on the front porch and wrapped a blanket around him. He could feel the warmth of the day but not be beaten on by the sun. _

_He watched his daughters run around in the yard, chasing after Charlie as she moved from the house to the barn to the root cellar and the garden. Aaron had been astute in his observations about the young girl. She was young but certainly capable. She left after she'd caught up on the chores to go hunting. While she was gone, Greg dozed in his chair lulled by the sound of his children, the smell of the bread that Priscilla was inside making and the warmth of the day. Charlie's return three hours later woke him from his nap. _

_Becca ran away disgusted but Gabi stood by absorbed in fascination as Charlie strung the deer up by its neck so she could then dress and process it. It was obvious to Greg that Gabi had taken to Charlie. It was nice to see that Charlie wasn't bothered by the attention; Greg figured that Charlie would be a good influence on his daughter. Sure she may seem too hardened, by old world standards, but in this world, Charlie was a survivor. Sadly, that's all anyone could come to expect. Yet, there was gentleness about her that he appreciated. She tolerated all of the girls' incessant questions, let them help, showed them how to do things correctly. _

_He dozed again briefly but woke when he felt he wasn't alone. Greg opened his eyes and saw his daughters had crawled up next to him and cuddled close. He thought back to the days of each of their births. They'd had a profound effect on him. It had changed his world much like the power going out had changed the entire world. Like a switch had been flipped permanently. "Are you going to be okay Daddy?"_

_"__I hope so," he answered his youngest daughter._

_"__I'm sorry that I couldn't do more to help you Dad," Gabi said._

_Startled, Greg pulled her even tighter to him. "No, honey, none of this is your fault. You are so brave, taking care of me and your sister. I'm so proud of you. And so sorry because it's my job to take care of both you girls. The days you two were born were the very best days anyone could ask for. I've never been prouder of anything more than being your dad. I will always love you both, no matter what, no matter how far apart we are. That will never change. Ever."_

_"__We'll always love you too, Daddy," Becca promised. _

_Kissing both girls on their foreheads, Greg said, "Now you girls go play. I love the sound of your laughter. It's the only music left in this world." The girls complied and Greg watched them take turns on the tire swing until he fell asleep again. _

_Later, when Charlie and Priscilla went to bring him back inside, they could barely rouse him to consciousness. The two struggled getting him back inside but managed to return him to his bed. Once he was lying down, Greg's eyes fluttered open a bit and with a small smile said, "I love you" to Priscilla. _

_It was the last thing he ever said. He fell into a coma. His fever returned and they both went about the same routine of cooling him down. When they undressed him, they were astonished to see red lesions all over his body. _

_"__Is this smallpox?" Charlie wondered._

_"__No. Those are raised bumps with a depression in the middle. These are sunk in. God….it's like it's eating his flesh," Priscilla said with unmasked horror. The lesions were about the size of an old nickel and it was circled by raw skin the size of a half-dollar "I don't know what this. I don't know what they've done to him," Priscilla's voice broke. _

_"__This must be excruciating for him," Charlie remarked. "Is there anything we can do for him?"_

_Priscilla shook her head. "We need old medicines that we have no access to. Hospitals and medical care we no longer have. I just hope he can't feel anything now," Priscilla said. Devastated for Priscilla, who had become a good friend the last few weeks, Charlie hugged her in sympathy. Charlie left Priscilla with Greg and got the girls fed and then readied them for bed. She then went back into the room and together she and Priscilla dressed him and then brought the girls in to give their dad a kiss goodbye. Priscilla agonized over the decision, but she recalled losing her own father. He had died two weeks before her college graduation. She had been running home every weekend to be with him when it had become clear that he was losing to the cancer. He died on a Wednesday night. She hadn't been there to say goodbye because she'd had finals that morning. For the rest of her life, Priscilla had hated not being able to say goodbye to her dad. She hoped letting the girls say it would help them as they were older and not traumatize them too much now. It felt like a situation in which it was impossible to make the right decision. _

_By dawn, Greg Taylor was dead. Priscilla and Charlie kept Gabi and Becca from him because Priscilla didn't want them to see him that way. They'd said goodbye the night before. During the night the lesions had spread across his body. His breaths came slower and shallower until he took one last breath. The last expulsion of air seemed to do him in. His chest sunk in and never rose again. They locked the door to keep the girls out and together Charlie and Priscilla dug a grave for Greg. Using a blanket, they carried him outside and then buried him. _

_Priscilla returned inside to be with her daughters, who were naturally devastated at losing their father. Charlie puttered around the barn doing various chores. When she finished her chores she began to look in earnest around the barn; finding what she needed, Charlie went to work. As she did, Charlie came to the conclusion they could no longer wait here. They would leave a note for Aaron—who would hopefully return—to meet them in Ardmore. As pleased as she could be with her minimal handiwork, she then returned to the grave and placed the makeshift cross she'd made for him. She went back inside and asked Priscilla to bring the girls outside. _

_Each of the Taylor women were surprised to see the marker Charlie had made of two spare boards she'd found in the barn. With her knife she had painstakingly carved into the wood "Greg Taylor, Beloved Husband and Father, Always." The board wasn't terribly wide, so her lettering was small but the act of them was huge to the Taylor family. Charlie had also hunted around and placed flowers around the base of the cross. In a small basket were more flowers she'd collected for Priscilla, Becca and Gabi to place on Greg's grave. She handed Priscilla the basket and then left them to say goodbye one last time. _

_Charlie hadn't gotten the luxury of properly saying goodbye to her dad. Her need to expedite her trip to find her Uncle Miles so he could help her rescue her brother had meant saying goodbye to her father where he lay on the bloody ground before leaving him to prepare for her trip. She'd been able to bury Maggie but hadn't had anything to leave at her grave besides her bag. If she could go back, Charlie would write out an epitaph that said, "Loving mother." _

_Inside the house, Charlie used the time alone to rest. Exhaustion had been threatening to overwhelm her for weeks and the last week or so she'd only been holding it at bay through sheer force of will. Charlie understood she was pushing herself to the breaking point. But she needed to keep busy if only to keep her mind clear of thoughts she'd rather never think of. Charlie had never thought of herself having an active imagination, believing herself too practical for that. But now if she didn't hold the reins tightly on her mind images came unbidden about a night in a city she'd spent only a few days in; but now Philly threatened to overwhelm her even as it no longer stood standing. It lived on in her thoughts: Why only the one night? Was it only guilt over betraying Miles that kept them apart? Multiple scenarios of how it had happened invaded her dreams every night when she closed her eyes to try to sleep. _

_But that wasn't enough to haunt her anymore. After that godforsaken night in Philadelphia played out like a horror show, her dreams then were consumed with her father and her brother. Ben and Danny were hardly sympathetic to her current state. The dreams all started with them both dying in her arms like they had in reality. But they always came back to life and would say accusingly, "Your boyfriend killed us. How could you let him ever touch you? How can you dare miss his touch?" _

_Charlie did miss it—him, really. It had all been so unplanned for. She'd never meant to get that attached, to let them get that involved. But as soon as she had crossed the threshold into the room in Shamrock, it was like they'd also crossed an invisible barrier. Charlie didn't know how to take that step back now. She'd thought distance would be enough but so far it wasn't. And Charlie was starting to doubt why she wanted to step back in the first place. When her subconscious wasn't terrifying her with nightmares it was pulling her back into sweet memories like the gentle way he'd bathed her in a river. Or how he'd held her after she'd said goodbye to Jason. Or all the ways he looked out for her, even when he thought she didn't know. It was hard to believe that'd all been a lie; that he'd meant all those things for someone else. They'd never been able to lie with their eyes after all. _

_No, Charlie didn't believe it. She didn't want to. But she didn't know what to do about it. Charlie figured she could forgive Bass for his lie by omission. But Charlie didn't see how she could ever forgive her mother for her cruel intentions and spiteful game with truth and lies. If Charlie returned to Bass, it would mean returning to Miles. This she didn't mind—both of them needed Miles for individual reasons. But Miles came with her mother and Charlie just didn't think she had the strength and energy to deal with her. _

_Charlie could feel herself being pulled into sleep. As her eyes drifted close, she thought impossibly that she saw fireflies outside the window though it was still light out. Her last conscious thought was praying for her first dreamless sleep in weeks. _

Her wish for a dreamless sleep hadn't been granted. She was spared any thought of Philly though, but her brother and father had returned. Except that they weren't being cold or cruel to her this time. This time her dream world had been perfect. Her brother and father were alive, as well as Maggie and Nora. Miles was with them—and so was Bass. And in that dream everyone was happy and so perfectly content that it had rang false even as Charlie strained to get out. She and Bass were together in the dream; no one in her family was troubled by it. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. It hadn't occurred to dream Charlie to wonder where her mother was. _If it feels too good to be true, it usually is,_ rang in Charlie's head. Now as she held a weeping Gabi, the memory of her dream faded. She held the little girl until she finally sobbed herself to sleep. Realizing that Priscilla had let her sleep the whole afternoon through into night, Charlie went into the kitchen to find something to eat.

She was startled to see Priscilla sitting at the table. She was sipping a glass of whiskey. "Thank you for that. I had Becca in with me and she wouldn't let go until she fell asleep," Priscilla explained.

"It's no trouble. I know what they are going through," Charlie said. Deciding she'd rather drink than eat (like a true Matheson), Charlie poured herself some of the whiskey.

"Yeah. I know. Aaron told me," Priscilla said. "I'm worried that he's not returned by now."

"Me too," Charlie confessed. "But he'll be back. He's gotten craftier than he once was," she felt compelled to add as a way to boost Priscilla's morale. She'd just buried one husband today; though Charlie didn't really know what she and Aaron were, Charlie didn't think Priscilla could handle having to say goodbye to Aaron too. Charlie didn't want to think about that either. She didn't want to lose anybody else. "We can't stay here, though."

"What? Of course we can. We have to wait until Aaron comes back with help," Priscilla argued.

Charlie shook her head. "No. We can leave a note for him. We'll go to Ardmore. They could use our help—if there's anyone left. If there isn't, then who is looking after those kids?" Charlie reminded her. "Besides, I don't mean to tell you what to do with your daughters but I'm not sure staying in this house is the best thing for them. I mean, it's associated with their father's illness and death. Not exactly a lot of happy memories."

"It feels too soon," Priscilla commented.

"I disagree. Besides we can't do anymore here. And I can't leave you here alone with the girls. It's not safe anymore," Charlie said. "We need to check on Ardmore. See if anybody else developed those lesions because when we went there first, nobody had them. Melanie never said anything about them either."

"I'm not sure exposing my daughters to more sickness and death is the right answer," Priscilla argued.

"My dad wanted to keep me locked in a box because the world wasn't safe. We found a small village to live in and we kept our heads down. And the militia still found him and still killed him. I ended up walking a thousand miles to save my brother and he still died. Your daughters have lost their entire family except for you," Charlie told her. "They've already seen more than their fair share. Unfortunately that's the world we live in. It's harder, rougher than the one you grew up in."

"If you believe the world is such a dark place, why are you so intent on going to Ardmore if there's no chance we can help?" Priscilla asked.

"Because we need hope. Hope…hope is the last thing to die before all is lost," Charlie said as she thought back to her time in a room with Tom Neville and his gun. Charlie had given up hope by then, totally destroyed by her own guilt. She didn't see how she'd ever be free of it. Then he had pulled the trigger and she'd heard the click of an empty chamber. In the same breath of that one clicking sound, it was as if Charlie had been given new eyes. Hope had returned. She had been fighting for months without any. Hope made all the difference. So did love. She had thought about how her life had changed since she had met Miles. Miles had been lost at the time and Charlie realized she wanted to escape that room so that she could find him. Even when Connor tried to dissuade her from continuing the search, she had not given up hope. Of course, a part of her had also thought about Bass while in that room with Neville. She didn't know what or why, because they'd certainly drifted apart after New Vegas, but still she thought of Bass. And a piece of her had hated the idea of never seeing him again.

Of course that piece was suffering from her self-imposed isolation. But while it may be ready to return to Bass, the rest of Charlie was still working it out.

Eventually Priscilla conceded they needed to return to Ardmore. Charlie spent the next couple of days preparing things for their travel, telling Priscilla and the girls what they could do to help. She decided just leaving the animals behind was a tragic waste. She built makeshift crates to transport the chickens. There was a wagon beside the barn and she loaded it with all the supplies they could find inside the house and the barn. She cleaned out the rest of the root cellar. The horses—hers, Priscilla's and the one that had been at the homestead when they'd arrived—would draw the wagon. The cow and goat were tied with leads to the back of the wagon. Recalling the state of Ardmore when they'd left, Charlie figured the food would be most welcome. With that in mind she had gone out hunting and killed three deer, dressed and processed the meat to bring with them to Ardmore. All of the girls' few possessions were packed up, as well as mementoes from their father's family that was all gone now. They left a note for Aaron should he—_when he—_returned to the house. Then Charlie drove the wagon away from the home and back east towards Ardmore.

* * *

Bass, Miles and company travelled north in the hopes of finding a bridge crossing safe for them to head east over the Mississippi River. They had led their troops into Plains Nation territory for their search. The river had been the boundary line for the western border of the Monroe Republic. There was a crossing on a bridge from before the blackout in Perryville, Missouri into Chester, Illinois, which was one they both remembered belonging to the Ramsey clan. The Ramsey's had always been one of the more ardent fighters against the militia compared to the rest of the tribal clans.

However as they had gotten closer they noticed that the bridge was being held by Patriot soldiers on this side. They staged an ambush and killed the Patriots, but didn't risk crossing the bridge. It did cross over into Monroe territory, but it was still very close to the Georgia Federation lines and most likely the Patriots were controlling that side as well. They did however leave a group of men to control this side of the bridge and gave them one of the Monroe militia flags that Blanchard had sent them out with. He figured it might help them once they got to the Republic; but he had sent Texas flags as a precaution too.

Miles and Monroe both decided their best choice was up a little further north, about a hundred miles or so, and crossing in St. Louis. Duncan Page had owned that territory west of the river and the Republic to the east. Given that Duncan's tribe was dead, it was likely that either the Patriots had taken it over or had just demolished her reign and then left to take out more clans. If the Patriots had taken over the Ramsey territory it made sense that they wouldn't want to surrender it; it was the piece of land many of Georgia's trains needed to travel through to cross the Plains to reach the rest of the continent. If they could maintain control of those rail crossings, they were golden. Duncan's land, while bordering the river, was further north and wasn't directly in touch with the Georgia border either. That's why they thought maybe St. Louis would be their best option.

It took them a week to travel with their large caravan up to St. Louis. The crossing they would take was McKinley Bridge, which was a little over a mile long. "Did you know people incorrectly believed that the bridge was named after the former U.S. President?" Bass said to Miles as they made their way to a scouting spot on top of a building. They needed to see who was down there before bringing their troops into the city. "It was actually named for an Illinois Congressman."

Miles gave him a what-the-hell look. "How the hell do you remember that shit? Why the hell do you think I still care about that after all this time?"

Bass shrugged. "I like history," he said unoffended. This was old ground for him and Miles. He'd share some of his random trivia and Miles would just shake his head at him. He'd enjoyed school more than Miles had; it had come easier to him. Bass suspected that Miles hadn't tried very hard at it because he knew he would never have been able to keep up with his older brother Ben, who had a genius level I.Q. So if he never tried, and then failed, he never had to be disappointed.

"Well this isn't _Jeopardy_ so shut-up," Miles snapped. "We're supposed to be doing surveillance not 'Ask me a dumb question for a dumb answer, Alex.'"

"Touchy," Bass said.

"I'm going to shoot you," Miles said in resignation.

"So you keep saying," Bass said unconcerned. "Hey, those are clan members." He pointed down to the group and handed over the binoculars so Miles could see.

"But this was Duncan's land," Miles noted. "Her clan is all dead."

"Apparently a new clan took over," Bass said. "By those bands on their left arms I'd say they were Ramsey clan members."

"You think they got pushed north by the Patriots?" Miles asked.

Bass nodded. "It's a possibility. And without Duncan there to stake her territory, Brant Ramsey probably just moved his men north. That guy was always such a fuckin' pain in the ass," Bass griped.

Miles snickered. "Yeah he was. He never seemed to quit even though it was obvious he was never going to defeat us. We were fine with the damn boundaries as they were; I don't know why he always had such a stick up the ass about it."

"Then you up and went and joined Georgia to help him fight me," Bass added.

"You deserved it. You were being a dick," Miles said. "I dare you to tell me otherwise."

"Fine. But you were a shit friend for not talking to me like a rational person. Instead you plotted my murder and then plotted against me more," Bass said reproachfully.

"You really want to get into this now?" Miles said incredulously. "Or would you rather talk about how we can get rid of those guards?"

"Whatever," Bass said and took the binoculars back.

"What do you think the chances are that if we ask them nicely they'll let us cross?" Miles said sardonically.

"Not a good chance, brother. They've got the Patriot symbol," Bass told him. He handed the binoculars back over. "Their arm bands now have that weird eye symbol that is on all of the Patriot's stuff."

"Shit," Miles griped. "Well I guess we'll just have to kill them all."

"That usually works for us," Bass said.

"But if we bring in our troops to march through St. Louis—what's left of it anyway—that's going to be a sure give away. We need to do this covertly."

"You think we need what, three or four teams with us? We'll take a position on a couple roof tops, take 'em out with a couple sniper rifles?"

Miles shrugged. "That'll work. Just as long as they don't have guards on the rooftops to shoot at us."

"That's why we bring back up. We sweep the roofs then take out the guys on the ground," Bass said.

The plan worked. Miles and Monroe went together, naturally. No one else could anticipate each other's moves better. Well one person could but both Miles and Bass were working to keep her off their minds. Both were really starting to feel the weight of her absence and the fear of why it persisted. Charlie was like a ghost with them.

They came up old route 70, the once Mark Twain Expressway. Based on their recon they knew that this side of the bridge had been surrounded by a wooden fence to block anyone unwanted from gaining entry. This area used to be an old junkyard and remnants of old, smashed cars remained. They had moved the more intact cars and placed them in strategic spots as cover in a firefight. Based on the bullet holes in them, it'd been an effective maneuver. There was a small section of city blocks with buildings clustered together about a block away from the entrance. The only building close to the fence was a flat-top building that had been commandeered as headquarters for those ordered to guard the fence.

As they left the highway, they split off into teams to go down small streets in between the buildings to clear out any enemy there. Monroe went up the fire escape first. They cleared the roof and then set up. Miles would be firing a sniper rifle at the guards; Bass would have his back in case they drew fire. In the years since Miles and Monroe had fought against Ramsey's clan, the clan hadn't improved much. Their association with the Patriots afforded them better weapons but not much more in skill. Someone fired shots at them and the bullets riddled across the rooftop. Monroe returned fire until no one returned his volley. Two other snipers worked with Miles and they took out the outside guard. These first teams cleared the way and then their second wave moved in, this time on the ground to clear out the headquarters.

"Who's guarding the other side?" Monroe asked the one person they spared because the Generals had wanted to question one of the tribe members.

"Go fuck yourself," he said.

"That means he doesn't know," Miles said.

"Maybe it means he does know and he's being a dick about it," Monroe countered.

"I think that's his natural personality shining through," Miles sneered.

"Good point. Since when is Brant Ramsey in bed with the Patriots?" Monroe returned to his questioning.

"Go fuck yourself," he repeated.

"Well he's got originality," Miles said sarcastically.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No. Yours. I fucked her with my big dick too," he said. His eyes were already black from his scuffle with the Rangers who had found him because he hadn't wanted to cooperate.

"Watch your mouth," Monroe snapped.

"Then when I was done with her I helped your old lady out too."

His words unwittingly brought to mind images that troubled Bass as he lay alone on his bed at night: That Charlie wasn't spending her nights alone, frustrated and heartbroken. In reflex, Monroe backhanded the guy, splitting his lip.

"You're going to die anyway. You want it quick or you want it extra painful?" Monroe asked as if he were calmly asking about the weather.

"You don't scare me. Bunch of goddamn Texas Rats."

Miles and Monroe exchanged amused looks. "Do you know who we are?" Monroe asked.

"Two nobodies."

Monroe chuckled darkly. "You ever heard of Miles Matheson and Sebastian Monroe?" Beneath all the blood staining his face, the man went pale. "Based on the way your squeezing your lady bits together trying not to piss your pants, I'd say you've heard of us."

"Oh, yeah. He knows who we are now," Miles said darkly. "FYI, everything you heard was true. So answer the damn question. Who has control over the other gate?"

"You guys do. It's your militia," he answered.

Monroe gave him a grim smile. "Now was that so hard? Now how long has Ramsey been in bed with the Patriots?"

"I swear I don't know. I'm a new guy. I joined because I figured I would survive all the wars better than going it alone."

"What wars?"

"Tribes are fighting Patriots and each other. I was in Duncan Page's clan when the Patriots showed up. They slaughtered us. I ran away because I knew there was only one way that fight was ending. I joined Ramsey because I knew his clan was bigger and stronger. They've kept you guys at bay for years."

Miles and Monroe chuckled. "What are you talking about?" Miles said.

"Everybody knows your militia has been trying to cross the Mississippi River to take over Ramsey's land for years."

Monroe scoffed. "That's bullshit your fearless leader fed you because the truth is he's been trying to cross into my land and he gets his ass handed to him every time."

Monroe thought of Duncan. How she'd been a smart and crafty leader and fighter. He'd even cared about her once upon a time ago—before blue-gray eyes and a fascinating right dimple had consumed his thoughts—and she hadn't deserved to be shot in the face by a bunch of dicks in khaki. "You abandoned your brothers-in-arms because you're too much of a chicken shit to fight?" Monroe sneered. "Duncan Page was a friend and you left her to die. Much the same way you let your new comrades die for you as you hid inside a—what was it?"

"I believe the Ranger said in an old utility closet," Miles provided.

"Like a damn coward. You deserve a coward's death," Monroe said and then drove his knife into the guy's gut and ripped him open. "Oh what do you know? He did have guts after all," Monroe quipped. He cleaned the knife on the guy's shirt before sheathing it again.

Miles looked at his friend in alarm. It felt like he'd been keeping company with President Monroe towards the end. "Come on Bass. Let's get some air," Miles suggested and led him away from the room.

"Good idea." As the cool night air hit his face, it was like being splashed with cold water. "Jesus," he murmured as his head began to clear.

"Just breathe," Miles said. "Let it go."

Bass ran his hand over his mouth and exhaled sharply. "I need…I need to take a walk." Without waiting for another word, Bass walked away. His movement aimless except for the need to find space—distance.

Holy hell. One mile away from his old stomping grounds and he'd started to backslide. He couldn't do that. He promised he wouldn't do that.

Bass reached into his pant pocket and pulled out the fletched end of an arrow—the same arrow that Charlie had unknowingly left behind in her hurry to leave _him_ behind. He'd found it on the ground of the tent and had held onto it for hours as he'd tried to figure out how to live without her. She'd made the arrow herself—had been fletching it only an hour before his entire world had crumbled at his feet. He held onto it like it was a piece of her. Eventually Bass had snapped the end off to carry it around like a talisman. He squeezed it tightly in his hand and said, "Charlotte, I miss you. I need you."

Then he added like a prayer, "Come back to me," before turning around to return to Miles.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter kicked my butt. I'm in what I call "transition hell" and it's been bogging me down. I finally figured out how to throw some action into here and also see some more Miles and Monroe interaction. Anyway, please let me know what you think—reviews are fuel for a writer, especially this one! : )


	19. Chapter 19

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 19_**

**Disclaimer:** Mine? No.

**A/N: **Shout out to **_Whynotitsfun_** for giving me some local color for St. Louis/Metro East. I had most of this part planned out and then I gave it a twist because of something she shared with me. Sorry if this offends anyone from the area; no offense meant. Actually, no offense meant to anyone who hails from any place I've mentioned in this story. I know absolutely nothing about them. I either made it all up or made most of it up based on research or what lovely natives have shared with me. : )

Second shout out to **_ThreeMagpies_** who hopped aboard this crazy train the other night (or their Aussie day into night) and read like wildfire to catch up and all the while leaving me wonderful little reviews that were quite inspiring because I was working on the first draft of this chapter and all I really wanted was to go to sleep (b/c it was my American night into day). So thanks for spurring me forward! I know you didn't think that I was reading them, but I was and I even replied (check your FF private messages), so I wanted to let you know that you were heard—and gratefully so! Thanks so much. And welcome to #Charloe land. Come in and play and stay a while! : )

* * *

**Ardmore**

Their second arrival to Ardmore was even less heralded than their first. The fact that fewer children were around on the street was incredibly disheartening. Charlie stopped the wagon out front of the quarantine building. "Find the kids," she instructed Priscilla as she got down to check the building.

She entered cautiously and found more empty beds than when they'd left. Troubling most of all was Charlie saw Melanie and Scott occupying two of the beds. A short woman, about Charlie's age with short brown hair was in the corner shredding a sheet for bandages. A quick glance confirmed Charlie's fears—they had developed the same lesions as Greg Taylor.

"Charlie?" Melanie mumbled when she noticed Charlie had stopped by her bed.

"Yeah. It's me. I'm sorry you've gotten sick," Charlie said.

"Nobody's luck holds forever. Your friend find her family?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes. Her children are okay but her husband died. We came to help."

"Not much help for us now, I'm afraid. Though the kids will need looking after," Melanie said.

"She needs to rest," the short brunette said as she approached.

"I'm going to get all the sleep I need soon enough, Eloise. This is Charlie. She was with that group I told you about. Greg Taylor died too, so add his name to the list. They've come to help," Melanie wheezed.

"Okay, but just take a little rest Melanie. Keep your strength up." Eloise nodded and Charlie followed after her.

"Are you the last one?" Charlie asked.

"Me and Kyle. He's…he's out dealing with the dead," Eloise said. "But it's probably just a matter of time."

"What about the kids?"

"They've scattered around town. We're nearly out of food and it's hard to be everywhere," Eloise said her voice contrite.

Charlie nodded. "Don't worry. We brought food. I went hunting too. I'll take care of the kids. Just…just hold on in here. My friend went to get help from the Rangers."

Charlie left Eloise to her post and returned outside. Priscilla had returned with half a dozen or so kids. They looked more than half starved. "Gabi, you're with me. Priscilla, round up all the kids and bring them back here. Collect blankets, pillows, cots, beds, sleeping bags, whatever and," Charlie looked around before pointing to the building across from the quarantine. "Set everything up in there. Bring as many supplies as you can find. I'm building a pit for a fire. They need food. Gabi, I want you to bring me all the water you can carry. We need sterile water."

Everyone went to work on their assigned tasks. Rounding up all the children was arduous as many had taken to hiding, traumatized by the endless line of dead bodies being carried out of the quarantine building. Then there was the fact that they were all severely malnourished and unfit to help like they had seen many of them doing almost two weeks before. Charlie cooked all the deer meat she had and also used a portion of the vegetables from the root cellar she'd taken from the farmhouse. She'd hunted around and found a suitable place to store them so they wouldn't rot. While she roasted the food over the fire, Charlie also helped carry all the bedding and supplies Priscilla had managed to round up into the building.

Once the food was complete, she rationed out the food to give to the kids, Eloise and Kyle, who had returned earlier. Charlie had also brewed broth for the sick that were still able to eat. It hurt Charlie to see the kids inhaling their food; it was likely their first real meal in several days. Despite working up a small appetite, Charlie gave herself the smallest portion. She knew she was going to need to go hunting again tomorrow. She checked on Eloise and Kyle to see if they wanted to take a break but they said they'd be fine and thanked her for her work.

She and Priscilla set up the beds in rows. Charlie took the bed closest to the door in case something went wrong. Priscilla shared a bed with her daughters towards the middle so she could hear if a child needed something at the end of the room.

Charlie soon settled into a routine like she had at the homestead. She woke every morning and worked with some of the kids—always Gabi—at taking care of the animals they had brought with them. Then she would head out with her crossbow to hunt for more food. She managed to catch quite a few deer; several rabbits and some squirrels. What she didn't immediately cook, Charlie also began turning into jerk. She hoped Aaron would return soon. Their vegetable stores were getting seriously low; the community garden had pretty much died out because of lack of care. Frankly, if Aaron didn't come back with help soon Charlie figured that all of them were going to die from malnutrition. Charlie had cut down her own meals to one a day and reduced the portions of everyone else, save those who seemed closest to serious illness.

Several days after her arrival, Charlie spoke with the little boy that Melanie had originally pointed out to her on her first day in Ardmore, Henry. It hadn't been planned; Charlie had been scavenging, desperate to find anything that had been left behind during their first pillaging before moving everyone into the building across from the quarantine. She'd never felt so helpless—all these people's lives slipping through her fingers. Somehow she had taken on the cause of helping Ardmore—a crusade to save it and thus far she was failing.

_Was this how Bass had felt when he realized Philadelphia was gone? _Charlie wondered. _Or how Miles had felt before he'd left the Republic? The zeal of idealism being crushed under a fatal reality? _It had taken them years to realize that they had both failed at what they had set out to do. Now they were both out there somewhere trying to do the right thing again. She prayed it had a better end; that they would meet better ends.

They were scrapping the barrel in terms of medicines for the sick. Not that Charlie had any hope of saving their lives, but she wished to spare them any pain and discomfort from whatever was killing them. Thus far, Eloise and Kyle had avoided falling ill, but Charlie found herself undertaking the macabre task of watching and waiting for the telltale signs.

She came upon a two family house that Charlie wasn't sure why she was even bothering to check out—it looked like the definition of squalor and didn't seem like a place to find any helpful supplies even when inhabited. Nevertheless, Charlie entered the house. The first home wasn't as bad as she feared from the outside. Clearly, the family had been impoverished but attempts were made to keep the home neat if nothing grand. Charlie thought of her home in Sylvania Estates—she wondered who had taken up residence there once it was apparent that she and Danny (and Aaron and Maggie) were never returning. If she thought back hard enough, she could remember her first home in Chicago. Her room had been in pinks and purples and her wallpaper had had ballerinas on it. God, it felt like a dream from someone else's life.

Charlie found some vinegar and put that in her bag. There were a couple of sheets that could be used and a few other items but not much. Clearly there hadn't been much there to begin with. Leaving that part and crossing to the next, Charlie was inundated with the stench of filth, stale alcohol and old smoke. This home had clearly housed residents no better off than the neighbors, but it lacked the care of the other side. Charlie very reluctantly went searching but was convinced she'd find nothing usable here. She had to remind herself that she'd marched through bodies in the dirt sullied by drying blood after battles to open up cupboards. A cursory inspection came up with nothing except a couple bottles of liquor. Charlie pulled the tops off and had an almost instant buzz from the strength of the alcohol. She figured even Miles would be hard pressed or desperate to drink this swill.

"That was my dad's," a small voice told her, startling Charlie. _So much for keen observation skills, Matheson_, Charlie thought dryly.

"That so? You think it'll be okay if I take it to use?" Charlie inquired.

Henry shrugged. He looked even smaller than the first time she'd seen him. His eyes were sunken and he looked like he'd been hit the circles were so dark underneath his eyes. "He didn't like to share but he's gone now. Though I'm not sure how much good it'll be for anything. It only made him mean and my mom cry."

Charlie felt her heart sink at the implication of the young boy's words. She recalled her impression of the boy weeks prior. He'd seemed sickly then; she'd attributed it to having recently been ill. But if this was where he grew up, then more than likely he'd been underfed and neglected all along.

"How come you aren't hanging out with the other kids?" Now that Charlie thought about it, she hadn't seen him around the other kids. He always held himself away and none approached him. He slept on a cot furthest from everyone and always was last in line for meals.

"It's my fault everybody got sick," he admitted with sadness and shame.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked.

"I got sick first and then Lucy and Johnny next door got sick. My dad was next and then all the grownups were sick and dying and it's all my fault," Henry said. He'd started out trying to sound casual but by the end his small voice cracked and she noticed him hurriedly scrubbing tears off his face. Charlie thought of Danny, who used to cry and ask her if it was his fault Mom had left because he was always sick. Charlie had shushed him and assured Danny their mother would never leave him behind. She had meant it; young Charlie knew intuitively that Rachel Matheson would never leave Danny behind without any expectation of seeing him again.

Charlie moved next to Henry and pulled him close. He weighed less than the contents of the messenger bag she was carrying around. She thought if she shook him she'd hear his bones rattle. "You listen to me. Are you listening?" she asked. Henry nodded. "You are not to blame for any of this. This is the fault of those Patriot soldiers who were here. I know this because they did the same thing to my town, Willoughby. You did nothing wrong."

"But…"

"It would have happened even if someone else had been sick first," Charlie told him point-blank, no punches pulled. "There is nothing that could have stopped this and there is no one in Ardmore to blame for it. So stop it. I need you guys to stay strong and help each other. I'm doing the best I can, but I need all of you to make it work. Do you understand?"

Henry, who had been keeping to shadows and observing, too ashamed and afraid to venture out to the others, had noticed the pretty stranger seemed to never stop moving and doing. It had surprised him at first. His mother had done the laundry of people in town for coin and his father had occasionally gone out to work but mostly he drank. But Charlie worked more in the few days she'd been in Ardmore than he'd ever seen his father work in his whole life.

"Now, you're going to stick with me," Charlie said. "Let's go. No more hiding out in dark corners."

Later that night, around the fire that been built for food and warmth as the hot Texas sun set and cooler air settled in, Charlie told Priscilla what she had learned from Henry that day.

"They did the same thing in Willoughby. They focused in on the unwanted people as targets. If you saw the place, Priscilla, and what I inferred from Henry, his father would definitely be unwanted for their perfect society," Charlie said.

Priscilla looked over at the boy who was sitting with her daughters. After Charlie and Henry had returned to the others, she had introduced Henry to the girls and asked them to include Henry for her. He seemed shy and uncertain but at least he wasn't hiding in the shadows on the steps of a nearby building eating like he usually did. "But not everyone could be considered undesirable. I mean, the town doctor was even infected," Priscilla noted.

"What if they couldn't control it?" Charlie wondered. "Like you said, maybe this _did_ become an epidemic. I mean, you're right, why would they wipe out all the adults? There were doctors, blacksmiths…" Charlie's voice faded as pieces began to click into place.

"Charlie?" Priscilla inquired.

"My God." Charlie murmured. "Maybe it was…what was that thing called that Aaron taught us happened in that war between all the world countries….uh…" Charlie struggled to remember from her history lessons.

"You mean World War I or II?" Priscilla asked.

"The one with the camps," Charlie said, and brought to mind horrible pictures she'd seen in the history book they'd used in their lessons. The people in those pictures made the children of Ardmore look downright gluttonous and Charlie shivered at the thought.

"Genocide?" Priscilla provided.

"Yes, that's it," Charlie said. "What if this was all intentional? Why did you want to come here? What were you afraid of?"

"The Patriots getting my daughters," Priscilla said immediately.

"What if they found a way to take the parents away from the kids instead of the other way around?" Charlie asked.

As Priscilla put together what Charlie was saying she gasped. "But the Patriots stopped that war clan from stealing the kids. Greg told me before he died."

"The Andover clan that attacked Willoughby was hired out by the Patriots," Charlie told her. "So if they can't steal the kids with clans or from schools," she added thinking of her harrowing rescue with Bass, "what if they just wipe out the middleman, so to speak, by eliminating the parents? Even if the clan wasn't hired to steal the kids for the Patriots, they nevertheless could have been hired to scare the town into accepting the Patriots' help. That gave them a foothold into the town and then they offered them medicine. It's clear there was something in those vaccines that made everyone sick. I don't understand why not all of the kids got sick—or rather why any of them did—but I'm telling you this was all premeditated."

"Maybe none of the kids were supposed to be sick at all," Priscilla said. "If Henry was as neglected as you said, then that makes him at risk for developing complications from the vaccination. Remember what I said about small pox vaccination spots needing to be carefully attended to? Well if no one was looking out for the boy, he could have gotten it."

"So you think he may not have been sick with whatever has been killing the adults?" Charlie said.

"I think there's a chance we are looking at two different illnesses," Priscilla said. "I'd have to ask Eloise or Kyle for details of Henry's symptoms. If Lucy and Johnny were the only other kids to become sick and if they lived in close quarters they could have received it from him or their own vaccination sites could have been the source too. It was only that one house."

"But is it significant that Henry's father was also the first adult to become sick with this mystery illness?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know. There are so many variables at play here. I mean, even the adults who have been sick have had varying symptoms from each other," Priscilla said. "I'll ask about the kids who were sick. But I think we can agree on the safe assumption that the Patriots never intended for the kids to get sick, which in some horrible way is a relief."

"How can you say that?" Charlie asked in disbelief. "All the adults are dying."

"Yes and that's horrible," Priscilla agreed readily. "But there's nothing worse than losing a child. Nothing makes you feel as helpless as watching a sick child that you can do nothing for."

She thought of Danny and how his loss weighed on her. He hadn't been her son, but she'd tended him like a mother. Rachel hadn't been there to mother him but she certainly grieved him profoundly. It took Charlie a moment to understand the weight of Priscilla's words. "You've…you've lost a child?" Charlie stammered. She looked over at Gabi and Becca in fresh fear, as if by suddenly saying the words one of them might disappear. She had become surprisingly attached to both the Taylor girls.

Priscilla nodded and her face became a mask of old pain revisited. "It was more than fifteen years ago now."

Charlie did the calculation quickly in her head. "That would make it…"

"The baby was Aaron's. I was pregnant when he left. I didn't know it at the time. By the time I was set to deliver, nearly everyone in our group had died. I was hungry and weak. I went into labor alone. Greg found me and brought me to a doctor. But I lost the baby," Priscilla wiped away tears that fell and Charlie reached over to squeeze her hand in support.

"Does Aaron know this?"

"No. What would be the point? He hates himself for leaving—and part of me hates that he did leave—and it would only make him feel worse to know he had lost a child," Priscilla said.

"I think he should know that he had a kid," Charlie said. She thought of Bass who had lost his baby with Shelly and his chance to be with Connor. She thought of the look she had seen in his eyes a couple of times when he thought he was being careful around her. _Every parent and child should know of each other_, she thought.

* * *

**Eastern Bank of the Mississippi River, Illinois **

They marched under the Monroe flag across the mile long McKinley Bridge. They figured it was a risk and they most likely risked possibly being shot at but Bass and Miles marched with the group. They were halted by the call out of one of the guards. The Monroe Republic had built a fence that needed to be passed through to entire into the country. One of the sentries on top had called out and was now aiming at them with one of the standard rifles that the militia had outfitted its border guard with. It wasn't as powerful as the ones that Bass had kept for his personal guard, but it was more so than the basic rifle that his general militia was given.

"Stop. Identify yourselves," they were ordered.

Bass and Miles exchanged long suffering looks and both were hesitant to step forward. "It's your militia, not mine," Miles said.

"Oh, screw you Miles. The whole damn thing was your idea anyway. Get your ass up there with me," Bass said. They stepped forward and Bass called out, while thinking Charlotte's name like a prayer, "It's General Monroe."

"Monroe was killed in Texas," the guard called out.

"They had a change of heart," Bass said, skipping the truth. "They forgot to publicize my stay of execution."

"How did you get the Monroe flag?"

"It's mine," Bass said simply, bending truths to suit the situation.

"They look like Texas Rangers behind you, not militia soldiers," the guard observed.

"That's because Texas decided that rather than kill me they wanted us to become allies," Bass explained.

"Allies in what?"

"Fighting the Patriots," Bass announced. "Look I got papers from Texas explaining everything."

"I'm going to need to verify who you are, sir, before I can allow you to enter," the guard said.

"Well surely one of your men must recognize your goddamn President," Bass said bitterly.

"I thought you kept yourself locked in your ivory tower," Miles remarked. "I heard you didn't leave the Hall much after I left."

"Fuck you if I was paranoid," Bass muttered back to his friend. "My own damn brother tried to assassinate me."

"I'm going to send someone out who says they can identify you. You try anything at all and I will shoot you in the head. Do you understand?" the guard informed.

"Yes," Bass said, bored.

"Let's hope they don't send out someone who hated you," Miles said. "The odds don't seem very good."

Bass refrained from comment but did indulge in the fantasy of throwing Miles off the bridge if only to go for one second without his damn snarky comments. The gate opened up and a soldier came through. He was mid-thirties, thinning red hair, very tall and lean. His image rang a familiar bell in Bass' mind but a name didn't come to mind. The soldier—a Captain based on his insignia—paused, his rifle at the ready and took in Bass' countenance. He looked hard without saying anything. It was true that Bass didn't look exactly like President Monroe without the uniform (and he had adamantly refused to wear the Rangers' uniform that Blanchard had sent along).

It was Miles who recognized the soldier and spoke up, "It's really him, Captain Stevenson."

The Captain turned his attention to Miles and his stony façade broke in surprise at seeing his former General there beside Monroe. "General Matheson?"

"Yeah, it's me," Miles said, barely suppressing the wince at the title.

"This is a surprise seeing the two of you here, together," Stevenson admitted.

"Yeah the band's getting back together for another tour," Bass said dryly. "So you know I am who I say I am?" Stevenson nodded. "Then let the guard know so he can point his rifle elsewhere."

Stevenson gave the signal and the guard lowered his rifle and signaled down to reopen the gate.

At the back of the group, Rachel Matheson couldn't believe that she was about to reenter Monroe country again. She'd thought she had left that behind for good on her march to the tower and then her relocation to Texas. But here she was _following _Monroe and Miles back into their old stomping grounds.

"I can't believe we are following him right back to his demented throne," Rachel griped to her father who stood next to her.

Gene wasn't terribly thrilled about the idea—and he missed Willoughby greatly—but he'd made a vow that Marion's death wouldn't be in vain. He wouldn't quit until they had stopped the Patriots from taking over any part of the old United States. Gene had decided that going with Miles and Monroe would be most effective, especially when he knew that his daughter would follow Miles. He didn't want to lose the last of his family. He wasn't getting any younger and while Willoughby would always be the home of his heart, what mattered most was that he was with family. He missed his granddaughter and hated that he'd only finally begun to know the granddaughter he hadn't seen since she was barely more than a toddler and she was gone again.

"I did bad things working for the Patriots. I need to make up for them. I need to make Marion's death count for something. Miles and Monroe are the best way to get that done," Gene said to his daughter. "You didn't need to come. You could have stayed in Austin or gone back to Willoughby."

"I couldn't stay…I had to come too," Rachel said.

"I didn't figure that you'd want to leave Miles," Gene said.

Rachel shook her head. "Not just for Miles but for Charlie too."

Gene raised a brow in question. "I know she'll never seek me out again. If she returns, it will be for them, not me."

Gene had learned of the circumstances of his granddaughter's rather abrupt departure from Austin. Naturally he had been less than thrilled to discover that Charlie had been romantically involved with Monroe. Admittedly, Monroe had come through for them in regards to getting President Davis to the church to carry through with Miles' plan to stop Texas from going to war unnecessarily with California. Word had spread about Rachel's scene outside Charlie's tent and then how things had devolved inside Miles' tent shortly thereafter. Word had spread through the camp like wildfire. "Can you blame her?" Gene asked.

"She slept with Monroe," Rachel spat with great contempt.

"As you pointed out, so did you. And you slept with Miles while you were with his brother Ben. Don't even get me started on all the riff-raff you dragged home before you met Ben. Is your past really so illustrious that you can judge other people's?"

"He killed my son," Rachel reminded.

"Is your hate for Monroe worth the child you still have?" Gene asked pointedly and then left Rachel to stew.

Later after the entire Ranger battalion and the camp followers had been admitted through the gates, Bass and Miles found themselves sitting around a small table in Stevenson's tent drinking whiskey. Stevenson was the command of this border patrol. He had kept the unit together in the intervening year since he had last heard any orders from high command and after the word spread that Philadelphia was gone. People had assumed that Monroe had been in Philly at the time and had perished. They had been surprised to hear reports that he had actually been captured in Texas and executed afterwards and that he was being held responsible for the bombs on Philly and Atlanta.

"So how the hell did you end up in Texas?" Stevenson asked.

"I wasn't in Philly because I was lured away by a Patriot who told me he had the means to turn the power on. They set me up so I could be blamed. I ended up being stranded out in the Plains before making my way south to Texas looking for General Matheson. Texas tried to kill me but it didn't work and they decided they'd rather ally with me than the dicks in khaki."

"That's an apt title for the bastards," Stevenson agreed.

"You had any dealings with them?" Miles inquired.

Stevenson looked at Matheson a moment before answering. When news had spread through the militia that General Matheson had deserted, Stevenson had been affronted. He'd been an early member of the militia—back when it was still getting its legs underneath itself—and he had followed Matheson and Monroe numerous times into dangerous battles. He'd done it because he had seen the bond between them and also saw how strategically smart they were. You had to pick a side back then and to Stevenson it had been obvious the best choice was behind team Monroe and Matheson. But then Matheson had just left—and if the rumors were true—after trying to kill Monroe. Eventually Stevenson had let his resentment go. Sometimes war just caught up with a person and they couldn't take it anymore. Maybe Matheson hadn't really wanted to kill Monroe, but had only wanted to barter for his freedom, escape from the unrelenting fights with the clans, the rebels, Georgia, Texas and on and on. Stevenson himself had grown a bit battle weary, but being in the militia had been a great boon to his family and he never seriously considered surrendering his position. Nevertheless Stevenson wasn't sure how much he could trust Matheson, though Monroe clearly did. That clearly counted for something. Or it meant that Monroe was as bat shit crazy as the other rumors suggested. Maybe war had finally gotten to him as well.

"We fought them pretty steady up until about six months ago. Out of nowhere one day this large group of soldiers come marching up from the south calling themselves the Patriots and telling us they meant no harm, they just wanted to peacefully cross the Mississippi. I said not here," Stevenson recalled. "These guys were so slick with always the exact right thing to say, miracle medicines and perfectly plausible explanations for every goddamn thing under the sun. I didn't trust them."

"So they picked a fight?" Miles surmised.

"No they asked us to join them," Stevenson said. "That didn't work. Sneaky bastards tried to ambush us in the middle of the night. That's when the fighting broke out."

"What stopped it?" Bass asked.

Stevenson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Technically there hadn't been a Monroe Republic anymore to take orders from, but nevertheless what he was going to confess to might possibly fall under treason—especially during the latter part of Monroe's rule. "You know how this area has always been a…den of iniquity, shall we say, since even the earliest days of the blackout?"

Monroe and Miles both nodded. There had been a couple of drug dealers that had popped in the five or so miles south of the McKinley crossing. Eventually one dealer, Carter, had eliminated his competition—with the militia's help in exchange for money. The entire area had turned into another version of Las Vegas, without the danger of trying to cross through dangerous Plains war clan territories to reach New Vegas. It's location in the Monroe Republic meant that it served those in the republic and those savvy enough to sneak out of the Georgia Federation to enjoy its brothels, strip clubs, casinos, and cage fights.

"We struck a deal with Carter that we would protect his assets, in exchange for food and shelter and supplies over the winter," Stevenson said. "We waited around for months without word from anyone—until it finally came that Philly was gone and effectively the militia was as well. My guys and I had nothing to return home to—my family was stationed in Philadelphia and our unit was supposed to have returned before Christmas once relief showed up. It never showed and eventually we learned why." Stevenson's eyes went dark with rage and grief. "A few guys went AWOL but I got most of them to stay. But we only had so much to see us through and winters can be brutal here. I did what I needed to do to provide for my men, sir."

"No one is going to court-martial you for providing for your men," Bass said. "So how did Carter broker a cease-fire?"

"He suggested that this become Switzerland, so to speak. We would still be their rented cops and the Patriots were more than welcome to enjoy themselves at his establishments. They took him up on the offer and have filled his coffers full of gold and diamonds in the several months since they've been coming in regularly," Stevenson explained. "I don't like it because I don't like the Patriots—hell I hate Carter—but I had to think about the good of the men."

"You did good," Miles said. Stevenson had dealt with Carter for survival; he and Bass had done so for expansion and gold. "Say are there Patriots down there now?"

"Oh, yeah. They are always shuffling around there. Some move in and others ship out. But there's always a group of Patriots there."

"Well, I don't like the Patriots. In fact, I hate the sons of bitches," Bass said. "And any ounce of their pleasure pretty much ruins my day."

"They dropped the bombs. The guy who did it was a Patriot mole who worked his way into the Republic," Miles summarized. "I know this because I was in the next room where Randall Flynn locked us in. He shot the kill button and then released the missiles and then killed himself so that we couldn't make him talk once we got out of the room."

"They really bombed Philly and Atlanta?" Stevenson asked.

"Yes, they did," Bass said. "I was their fall guy and I made it pretty easy for them but not anymore. Will you fight with us?"

"We rented out our services to Carter. We swore loyalty to the Republic," Stevenson said. "What's the plan?"

"We go down to there and kill every one of the khaki assholes," Miles said.

Bass thought about it a moment. It was asking for a massive purging. But should it stop with the Patriots?

_"__Why did the Republic rely on drug money so much?" Charlie asked him one night while they sat together at bar, sharing food and drink. In Charlie's case, a lot of drink; more specifically the barman's moonshine. Earlier they had been ambushed by more Patriot soldiers. A swordfight had ensued. Bass had been injured. Charlie had been terribly afraid that he would bleed out or get an infection before she could properly treat it because they had hightailed it out of there in case more Patriots showed up. Bass had told her that it wasn't bad and refused to let her field dress it. Thankfully their travels that day had already brought them close to a small town and they'd been thrilled to find the small tavern, especially when it came with rooms and amenities like a hot bath. They had shared in one earlier—and other activities in the tub—before coming downstairs to eat. _

_"__What?" Bass asked, startled._

_"__You took money from people like Drexel," Charlie said and it was clearly an accusation. Her words were a bit slurry, which was ironic because she was pure Matheson—and Bass suspected she was Miles' daughter. But they'd had a hell of a fight earlier in the day and she was tired. He figured that was why she seemed a little tipsy. Hell the moonshine was even giving him a slight buzz and he hadn't consumed nearly as much as Charlie had and he definitely outweighed her. _

_"__What the hell do you know about Drexel?" Bass asked surprised._

_"__Miles took us to him on our way to Philadelphia to get help for Nora," Charlie explained. "He told us how he used to fund your militia. But why?"_

_"__Governments need money to run," Bass said. "We didn't like it, but it was necessary."_

_"__But you had taxes and stuff, why wasn't that enough?" Charlie wondered. "Drexel made it sound like in exchange for your protection he gave you lots of gold."_

_"__He wasn't lying. I can't believe Miles took you to him," Bass said. _

_"__Nora needed help," Charlie said with a shrug. "He was a psycho and evil. And mean."_

_"__Mean?" Bass didn't like the tone of Charlie's voice and something stirred in him. "What did he do to you, Charlie?"_

_"__He dressed me up like a hooker—why do they always dress me up like a hooker? I'm not a hooker. Am I?" she rambled but didn't pause to hear Bass' resounding "No." "Then he told me I had to go kill the head of this family that was trying to stop his drug business or he would kill Aaron, Nora and Miles. So I went."_

_"__Did he hurt you?" Bass asked in a low voice. Charlie's brain was mostly buzzing and she didn't notice the threatening tone to his voice. _

_"__He punched me," Charlie admitted and absently touched where he had coldcocked her. "Gave me a nasty shiner."_

_Bass knew about Drexel's reputation with his "ladies." Bass' insides quivered with malice and fear at the answer to the next question, but he had to know. "Did he do anything else to you, Charlotte?"_

_Charlie looked at him solemnly for a moment and then seemed to comprehend his meaning. "No, he didn't. I think he meant to—if I had survived killing the guy, which I don't think I was supposed to. I think he would have liked to have twisted the knife into Miles that way."_

_"__I'll kill him," Bass swore, just thinking about how Drexel had even dared to touch or think about touching his girl. _

_"__Can't. He's dead," Charlie said._

_"__Miles killed him? Good," Bass said and was only slightly annoyed he wouldn't have the pleasure._

_"__Not Miles. Aaron. Aaron killed him. Shot him dead," Charlie said._

_"__Aaron? Pittman? Stay Puft?" Bass asked incredulously._

_"__I don't understand that name," Charlie said bitterly. "I hate when everyone uses things I don't know. What does that even _mean_?! Stay-puffed. Stupid."_

_"__Stay Puft is a pop culture reference," Bass explained and he could tell from her rather what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look that still didn't help. "It was a big, fat marshmallow monster from the _Ghostbuster _movies."_

_"__But why do you call him that? That's not nice," Charlie scolded. "You were a crazy, megalomaniac and nobody calls you names." Bass smartly refrained from pointing out that she just had, in fact, called him names. _

_"__I think you might be getting a little bit drunk, Charlotte Matheson," Bass deflected the conversation._

_Charlie huffed in righteous indignation. "I beg your pardon. I've my uncle's liver." _

_"__God help you," Bass said with a chuckle and helped her stand and get back up the stairs to their room. "I think you meant his constitution."_

_"__No, I hated the Republic. You guys screwed up a lot of things," Charlie murmured as Bass carefully laid her down on the bed. "You won't screw up anymore will you?" Charlie mumbled as Bass removed her boots. He looked up but she was already sound asleep. He sat beside her and traced his finger across her face. "I'm going to try, Charlotte. For you." _

"I think it's time Carter went out of business too," Bass said. Miles and Stevenson both gave him curious looks. "He makes his money selling heroin and whatever else his chemists can cook up. And it's no secret that the women in his brothels are not exactly there voluntarily. They are usually kidnapped from his enemies or sold by people who have debts to settle with him. The casinos and stuff isn't a problem—I mean, who didn't hit up Vegas pre-blackout at least once?—but the rest of his business is bad news. He sells to kids and turns the rest into his next guard," Bass said thinking of Connor and Nunez. "And the sex trafficking is goddamn disgusting. It's no different from rape and that was outlawed but we turned a blind eye to this for the gold. We have to make it right."

Miles stared long and hard at Bass, like maybe he had never seen him before. Bass refused to fidget underneath the unrelenting stare of his best friend. The truth was that Miles was staring at a man that he hadn't seen in years. This was the same man who had once argued against invading another camp to steal their food because it wasn't ethical. Miles had pushed on it and later when a broken Bass had done it anyway, Miles hadn't tried to pull his brother back from the ledge. He thought he'd be able to keep it in check, but it would make building his ideas for a new government and army easier if Bass was a bit more malleable. Miles was staring eye-to-eye with the how badly he had fucked his best friend over and then left him holding the bag. Now his best friend was trying to clean up the pieces. It had been Miles' idea to get into bed so-to-speak with certain large drug dealers in the Republic to fund their upstart government and militia.

"We can do that," Miles said simply instead of spewing all that heart-to-heart shit that had just cascaded over his brain. "We'll have to be careful so we don't end up with a lot of civilian casualties. Unless you were thinking of just razing the place?"

"No. We take out Carter, his guys but the people in the brothels and strip clubs we spare. Even the fighters," Bass said. He knew that while women were sold into prostitution, most guys who owed Carter either ended up floating in the Mississippi or sweating and bleeding their debt away in his cages. "We kill them for being there and it makes us no better than the bastard who put them there."

"We can't hit it tonight," Stevenson said. "We need time to plan and it'll take us an hour to get down there on foot. It'll be sunrise soon."

"Agreed. We wait until cover of night tomorrow," Bass said. "That'll give us a chance to plan and maybe send a couple of guys down to do some recon."

Hours later Bass returned to his tent as the autumn sun rose to fend off the crisp evening air. Bass let his mind drift back to the earlier part of his memory of the tavern with a drunken Charlie. He closed his eyes and thought of her and willed that to be enough to get him through.

_The battle had been bloodier than most they'd encountered during their trip. Mopping up the Patriots was a little more arduous than they had anticipated simply because fighting the zombied-soldiers was harder because it was like battling a machine. Bass limped up the stairs into the room they had just rented. He'd been cut in the leg by a sword during the fight. It wasn't life-threatening it just hurt like a bitch. Charlie followed him into the room. She took the one chair and moved in front of the bed where Bass had sat down. _

_"__Let me see it," Charlie said. She had a small kit in her hands._

_"__Now, Charlie? Can't you wait?" Bass said crudely. "I mean, give me a minute to catch my breath."_

_"__Shut up, Bass," Charlie said unamused. She didn't think he'd die of the cut, but an infection was another story and she didn't want to risk it. Somehow, in some godforsaken way, she had come to care about him. She'd lost too many already._

_The cut was on the thigh, so Bass had to unfasten his pants and slide them down to his knees. If Charlie hadn't already been introduced to his body in every way intimately possible by then, she would have blushed and fidgeted in the rather compromising position she found herself in with Monroe. But he wasn't Monroe; not anymore, not to her._

_She got to work cleaning and bandaging the cut. _

_"__You were brilliant out there," Bass complimented. He was leaning back, all his weight supported by his arms. But he lifted his left to run them through the beautiful blonde tresses that had fallen over her face as she concentrated on his leg. He had felt bone-numbing terror in the seconds before they'd entered the fray. He had wanted to throw her over his shoulder and hide her away until it was over. Of course if he'd tried she would have flayed him alive. God he loved that about her. _

_God he was starting to love everything about her._

_And wasn't that a kick in the pants. Another damn Matheson for him to love and worry about. Stupid fucking Mathesons would probably be the death of him. It was her fault he'd gotten the cut on his right leg to begin with. He was fighting the Patriots when he'd lost sight of her. _

_The blind spot on his left meant he had to turn his head around to find her. The relief he'd felt at seeing her, in the middle of a glorious takedown of a cadet had been interrupted by the piercing of his flesh by another Patriot's blade. He should have known better, he _did_ know better, but his concentration had already been broken by worry. _

_He'd dispatched the soldier quickly enough and instinct had him turning back around to his left to block another attack but in the second it took him to turn Charlie had been there blocking the killing strike with her own blade and had then gutted the man with her knife. They had worked together slicing through the Patriots that way; side by side, back to back, the way they'd learned to work together since he'd joined her in Willoughby. _

_"__You weren't so bad yourself," she said and turned her head away from his leg long enough to brush his fingers with her cheek. _

_He thought about how she'd been there in time to stop the guy from slicing him open from behind. _

_"__Why do you do that?"_

_"__Do what?" Charlie asked as she returned her attention and started stitching his incision. It wasn't very deep, but stitches would stop the bleeding and spare precious bandages while being kinder than cauterizing._

_"__You always go in on the left," Bass realized. Charlie didn't answer right away, applying her attention to finishing the stitching. She may not have always appreciated Maggie but Charlie had learned a lot by growing up with a doctor. Reconnecting with grandfather had helped scrap the rust off the skills Maggie had made sure had been passed down. The stitches were neat and precise. When she finished, she poured more alcohol over it (he hissed) and then placed one bandage over it. _

_"__I would think it was obvious," Charlie said after she had cleaned and replaced her tools into her kit._

_"__No. It's not," Bass said. Charlie always insisted on going into a fight with him and she always made sure he was to her right. _

_"__I'm protecting your blind spot, Bass," she said bluntly. _

_He blinked at her in surprise. How in the hell did she know? Unless—"Did Connor tell you about that?" He felt betrayed that his son would reveal such confidence and also savagely jealous at the reminder that his son had been with his woman first. He wanted to possess Charlie; she drove him to distraction. He knew his attachment to her was a hell of a lot deeper than he was willingly admitting to himself. _

_"__Connor? No. Why would he?" Charlie asked in surprise. "Does he know about it?"_

_"__I told him in New Vegas," Bass supplied._

_"__That's how he got the upper hand in that fight," Charlie realized. "It never made sense to me before."_

_"__So if he didn't tell you, how did you know? Miles doesn't even know." _

_Charlie smiled at him. It was one of her knowing smiles mixed with a bit of sass like she thought he was an idiot. "Because Bass I'm _intimately_ familiar with your body by now," she said coyly and leaned forward between his legs to press up close to his chest and rest her forehead against his. "I know a lot about you now. Face it: I even know more about you than Miles does," she said with a wicked grin. "I'm your number one Matheson now."_

_She put her tongue-in-cheek as she said it before brushing a kiss against his lips and then leaning back into the chair. _

_Bass just stared at her. She was right. She was terrifyingly right. Miles and he had been in combat for years and Miles had never figured it out. Of course, Bass had worked hard to compensate for it and not let others know about it. And yet this spunky, addictive young woman had uncovered the truth anyway and in a fraction of the time. More importantly, she never took advantage of it. _

_If she still meant to kill him, it gave her perfect leverage to do it. But she hadn't used it. She had protected it instead. Something burned to life inside of his chest in that moment. _

_There was no more hiding it from himself._

_He was falling in love with Charlotte Matheson. And would remain so until the day he died. If the day came, and he suspected it probably would, when she tired of their fling, losing her would be unspeakably painful now that he knew how deep his attachment had become. But he would still love her. And he would always look out for her. _

_"__You're right," Bass told her._

_"__About the blind spot? I know." _

_"__About you being my number one Matheson now," Bass corrected her._

_She gave him her lopsided smile. "I was kidding, Bass. There is no competition."_

_"__There isn't because it's you," Bass affirmed. "And thank you for having my back. But promise me you won't ever let it get in the way of you protecting yourself."_

_"__I can take care of myself," Charlie said._

_"__Promise me that you won't look out for me at the expense of yourself," Bass reiterated._

_Charlie marveled at the intensity of his stare and the weight his tone gave his words. It was like he was trying to convey something without saying it out loud._

_"__I promise I will look out for myself," Charlie said and then added, "_And_ your blind spot."_

_Bass refrained from telling her it was the same thing. _

* * *

**A/N: **This was the longest chapter so far. That was an apology for the delay. Real life and health issues have swamped me lately but I'm doing my very best to keep up. I've been working on this for a week. I've gone over it a lot, but I may have missed some things. Sorry. Now please be dears and leave me comments if you can. They mean the world and feed the muse, who is not only bossy but greedy. :P


	20. Chapter 20

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 20_**

**Disclaimer: ****_Revolution _****does not belong to me. But not for a lack of wishing. Same for David Lyons.**

**A/N: **I've struggled with this chapter. I'm still not sure I'm 100% happy with it. I don't know if it's because it still needs work or if it's because it's another transition-hell chapter. So I'd really appreciate it if you would give me feedback on this one so I know if it's me or not. Thanks. : )

* * *

**Ardmore**

Charlie stumbled out of the quarantine building. Full night had descended and by rights she should be asleep. She'd done hours of back breaking work. But Charlie didn't have the heart for dreams tonight. She wished to never see again the things that played out behind her eyes every evening, without fail. It was no longer that horrible night in a lost city that haunted her. That nightmare had finally played itself out until it had no color, then no shape, then no sound. It was just a void: a thing that caused an ache but could no longer cut.

It was not even the nightly visits with her dead brother and father. Nor was it Maggie and Nora, who had both joined her ritual evening flogging. Both had given their lives for the sake of her journey and now could not understand how she could share the bed with a man who was responsible for so many horrific things.

No, it was the rows and rows of graves that just kept growing and growing every time someone else died that kept haunting her now. Their lives slipping through her hands like the dirt of their unmarked graves. And now when she turned around from one endless row there was another, even longer row and all perfectly dug and proportioned for the body of a child. One, then two, then three and so on and so on as Charlie stumbled down between the two endless rows until her legs tired and gave way beneath her and she landed in the dirt at the foot of a grave—the only one with a marker. Hers. Charlotte Matheson.

Charlie was fairly certain that she was probably going to die here in Ardmore. They were starving to death, slowly. They'd started butchering the animals she had loaded up from the Taylor farm because they could no longer feed them. Charlie's one meal a day had withered in size. She knew she had lost weight—she was cinching her belt tighter and tighter daily it seemed.

And now Kyle was sick. That's why Charlie wasn't in her small cot across the way. Kyle had gone to bury the bodies of two adults who had died and had not returned by dinner. Charlie had gone out and found him collapsed on the ground. She had finished burying the bodies, but her arms could barely hold the shovel and she resorted to kneeling in the dirt and pushing the mound of dirt by hand. She was filthy, sweaty and exhausted. But she'd dragged Kyle up onto her horse and walked beside them back to the others.

There were three patients left: Kyle, Melanie and Scott. Eloise was the last adult standing. Now it seemed like it was only time for them all.

"Are you doing okay?" Eloise asked her as she stepped outside.

Charlie shrugged and the act pulled on sore muscles.

"I feel like such a damn failure," Charlie said. "Everything I ever set out to do I failed at. I wanted to help you guys here and we haven't been able to save a single person."

"I don't know what has happened here but I know it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong; in fact, you've kept the kids alive a lot longer than I suspected they'd be."

"Well we're all going to die of starvation soon. I thought my friend would be back by now," Charlie said and her voice broke. "The fact that he isn't means something went wrong. He's probably dead."

Eloise put a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "There's still time, you know? You can take the kids and head to Dallas or Fort Worth. I'm the only one left and I'm sure it's a matter of time now. There isn't going to be any saving of us, so you should save yourself and the kids."

Charlie shook her head. "I'm not going to leave you here alone. I'm surprised you've withstood the Patriot's disease this long, actually." She didn't say what she really thought though. _Nobody should have to die alone_.

"Patriots?" Eloise repeated. "You think they had something to do with this?"

Charlie scoffed. "Absolutely. They did the same thing to Willoughby when I was there. It was a little different. They infected oranges with typhus and then gave them out to their list of undesirable people. Killed off a lot of people in town before my mom figured it out and we got them the antidote."

"You think there is an antidote for this?" Eloise said hopefully.

"I don't know. But if there was, you can bet that the Patriots took it with them when they hightailed it out of here," Charlie said. "I wish there was some way of knowing what they had put in those vaccines for real."

"What vaccines?" Eloise asked.

"Didn't you get one?" Charlie inquired.

"No. I wasn't here when the Patriots arrived," Eloise said. "I was down in Austin. My boyfriend had just completed his Ranger training. I went to his graduation ceremony. I stayed for a few weeks to be with him before he was sent down to the Mexican border. I was actually supposed to be going with him and we were going to get married. But all hell broke loose and Texas declared war on California and then on the Patriots. He didn't know where he would end up and he wanted me to return home. So I did. By the time I got back here, there were no Patriots here and people were already sick."

"I think you might be safe," Charlie murmured. "If you didn't get their so-called vaccine then you might not be exposed. Priscilla told me she thinks what Henry, Lucy and Johnny were all sick with complications from their vaccination, not whatever this mysterious illness is. Therefore the only ones that have contracted it were the adults given the vaccine. You, Priscilla and I should have all been infected by now if it were going to happen."

"You think I might live?" Eloise whispered. Her brown eyes were round with surprise and hesitant hope. Charlie nodded affirmatively. "Oh, my God. I was so scared and I didn't have any way of letting my fiancé know what had happened to me. I didn't want him to think that I never went back for him."

Eloise's words pierced Charlie's heart to the quick. If something happened to her, did she want Bass to wonder for the rest of time what had become of her? Thinking that she hated him until she died? Could she do that to a man who had already been battered beyond repair? _Charlotte, I love you. Charlotte, I love you_.

For the first time, Charlotte didn't find herself doubting his words.

* * *

**Eastern Bank of the Mississippi, formerly Metro East, Illinois**

They had walked quietly down old Route 3. They had left with enough time to let them set up. Several of the Rangers were going inside in plain clothes. Miles and Monroe had thought it best to stay back with the reinforcements because their faces would be easily recognizable to Carter. A few of the militia border patrol went in too. It wasn't unheard of for the men to use any of their downtime enjoying the pleasures offered there.

It had all gone pretty well without a hitch. Firefights broke out between Carter's thugs and the men they planted. Miles and Monroe each led a group of reinforcements to flank the encampment. A few civilians were injured and killed in the ensuing fight but for the most part Miles and Monroe had made good on sparing the lives of most of the people there. There was one thing they hadn't counted on. In the scuffle, Patriots had seized as many civilians as possible and locked them in the fighting cage. They'd even managed to take a couple Rangers and one militia man as well.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Miles snapped in frustration as they had been told they had exactly thirty minutes to surrender before the Patriots blew up the building where the fights took place.

"We know they can blow it up," Monroe said. "So it's clearly not an empty threat."

"So we turn ourselves over?" Miles asked.

"Well what's our escape plan going to be first?" Monroe said.

"You're seriously going to surrender?" Rachel asked.

"What the hell else are we going to do?" Miles said.

"But they could kill you," Rachel said. "On sight. You might not get the chance to escape, Miles. You ever think of that?"

"So we just let them die?" Miles asked. "You want me to be a good guy, Rachel. Isn't this what good guys do?"

"No. This is what _martyrs _do Miles. You can come up with a better plan than just total capitulation," Rachel snapped.

"They aren't exactly giving us a large time table to come up with better options," Miles reminded her.

"Let's stop arguing about it and think of it," Bass interjected hotly.

But no sooner had the words been uttered then explosions blasted around them. Monroe and Miles watched dumbfounded as the building blew up before their very eyes as a startled Rachel cried out. All their good intent gone in a furious cacophony of sound and color. They knew that the Patriots were escaping as they watched the fire grow and grow. Miles called out to their troops, "Find them all. None of them escape. No prisoners." Then it was a stampede as their men ran out to intercept the fleeing Patriots.

Before the night was over both Miles and Monroe would find themselves soaked in Patriot blood.

* * *

Charlie slowly made her way back to Ardmore. She couldn't see much with the sheen of tears in her eyes. Even her tears were too exhausted to fall but they were too stubborn to disappear either. She had just buried Melanie. She hadn't even lasted twenty-four hours after learning her brother Scott had died. It was like whatever fire that had been in Melanie that had kept her wits up until she'd lost consciousness twelve hours before had just died out.

Charlie didn't know Melanie that well; hardly at all, really. But somehow the weight of her body was now anchored to Charlie's back. There was only Kyle left and it was just a matter of time. His illness was progressing much faster than they'd yet seen. Now a couple of the beds were being occupied by children who were so frail they couldn't stand anymore. They slept except for when they were woken for the broth Charlie managed to make. She'd had to butcher the cow yesterday. It was the last of the animals, save for the horses. Charlie hoped she wouldn't have to kill them. She'd only done it once and had hated the experience.

Henry was one of the children taking up one of the cots now. She'd promised to take care of him and she'd failed. It was Danny all over again.

They were all going to die here. Priscilla, Gabi, Becca, Henry, the rest of the kids, Eloise, herself. It was one big tomb.

Unable to sit upright anymore, Charlie fell forward leaning against her horse's neck. She wanted to see Miles again. She wanted to see Bass again. She didn't know what she'd say to him but she just had to see him. For so long just looking at him had been all she'd had; if she could just see him one more time she'd will it to be enough. She wasn't even sure where he was now. He was supposed to have been heading to Nashville but who knew where he was now. That was even saying she'd even live long enough to track down Sebastian Monroe one more time.

The thought choked out a sob from her chest but still her tears would not shed.

The thundering sound of hooves and wagon wheels broke her reverie. Charlie forced herself to sit up straighter and she pulled her crossbow around as she led her horse back into town. There in the middle of street, in front of the quarantine, were a dozen Ranger wagons. The Calvary had finally arrived. Then she saw him—Aaron. He was clumsily climbing down from a wagon. His left arm was in a sling, hampering his climb down. Charlie was relieved and happy to see him she was almost furious with it. She jumped down from her horse and strode over to her friend. She gave into the compulsion and just hugged him long and hard. When she pulled back she punched him in the right shoulder.

"Ow! Watch it!" Aaron groaned and rubbed his left one, which had been jostled by her punch.

"I told you to _never do that to me again_!" Charlie said. "Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what we've been through while worrying about you?" Charlie resisted the urge to punch him again.

"Hey it wasn't exactly a cakewalk for me either," Aaron said with his signature irony and pointed at his arm.

"What happened?"

"I met up with the Rangers—all the way in Dallas, by the way—but then there was a battle with the Patriots. I got shot. I was actually in the Dallas hospital for two weeks. They said I'm going to be fine, by the way. Thanks for asking," Aaron said sarcastically. "Once they gave me the okay, we came up here. I found your note at the homestead. I saw—I saw Greg's grave. How is Priscilla?"

"She's heartbroken because her husband is dead and we thought you were dead too," Charlie said.

"Charlie?" Priscilla called out from the doorway of their quarters.

"It's okay, Priscilla," Charlie called back. "It's the Texas Rangers."

"Ma'am we'd like to speak with somebody about what happened here," a Texas Ranger said as he approached.

"Well good luck with that. I just buried the last person who could tell you anything," Charlie said bitterly. "The only other person is in that building over there and he's basically comatose from a crazy virus that the Patriots infected the town with. There's only one survivor. Her name is Eloise and she's in there taking care of him. But moreover, we have dozens of starving children and they need your attention. There's—there's no hope for Kyle. It's only a matter of time and not much of it by the sounds of his breathing earlier. He was the fastest to go—he only became ill a few days ago but he's deteriorated quicker than everybody else. But if you have anything to make him more comfortable, maybe you could give it to him."

Texas Rangers swept through the city, even though Charlie had already done that. Then they set up quarters and medical tents and began treating the children. They had thankfully brought a few doctors and plenty of medicines as well as food—most importantly food—to give to the kids. They set up a tent for a mess hall. Charlie sat at one of the tables but she hadn't approached the food even though she was hungry, starved really. It wasn't that she didn't want to eat, but that she somehow had no will to go about it. It seemed much easier to just sit there now; as the last several hellish weeks seemed to both lift from her shoulders as the Rangers arrived but also contrarily imprint themselves deep into her bones, scarring her forever.

Priscilla brought over a plate of food for Charlie and instructed in her firmest mom voice, "Eat."

"I'm so sorry it took me so long," Aaron apologized for the hundredth time since his arrival.

"Aaron, stop it. It's not like you planned on getting shot," Charlie said as she took a bite of roasted potato.

"So what now?" Aaron asked.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"Well, we came here to find Priscilla's kids, which thankfully we did," Aaron said and nodded in the girls' direction who were sitting with a bunch of other kids eating heartily. Smiles on their faces for the first time in days. "But now what? What are we going to do now?"

"We've got to get back to my uncle and Monroe," Charlie said.

"I can't take my kids into a war," Priscilla argued.

"Where else are you going to take them? There is no place safe on this entire continent," Charlie reminded her. "The Patriots have infiltrated everywhere. You can't protect them on your own; it's too dangerous now. You can't stay here because there's nothing left. You heard those Rangers; as soon as they get things squared away they are taking these kids to an orphanage in Austin."

"I could move my girls to Austin," Priscilla said.

Charlie scoffed. "Texas is inundated with Patriots. They let them in—stupid freaking idiots—and now they are killing themselves trying to kick 'em out. No. You want to keep them safe from the Patriots? The safest place is with my uncle and Monroe. They are master strategists. They stopped the Patriots' plan for Texas and California to massacre each other. Join the camp followers, Priscilla. It'll be safer than trying to find some by-the-way place and hoping no one will ever bother you. And furthermore, what about all the Nano crap you and Aaron were telling me about? If you want to beat them you're going to need my mom's help and she'll be with my uncle. It's the most logical solution—we head east and catch up with them."

She gave a pointed look to Aaron like he needed to back her on this before she got up from the table. She took her food with her—she knew better than to let it go to waste. Instead she went over to the quarantine building and sat beside Henry, who was sound asleep after having been fed a while ago. Henry had competed with Gabi for Charlie's second shadow before he'd been done in by malnutrition. She picked at her food until it was gone; she kept eating long after her stomach had said to stop that she couldn't eat anymore. But her brain just couldn't let her waste food after the last weeks.

Charlie didn't remember falling asleep, but she groaned when she was shook awake by Eloise hours later in the early morning. "Charlie? Are you awake?"

Charlie groaned again and her eyes fluttered open trying to adjust to the light. Her sore muscles and bones screamed in protest as she started to stretch. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Kyle died," Eloise said solemnly. That forced Charlie awake pretty fast. She saw the dried tears on Eloise's face and her red rimmed eyes. The two women hugged, like they were the last two survivors in a war.

"I'm so sorry," Charlie said.

"The Rangers are burying him now with the others," Eloise said. "They've said that now that it's only me—and I'm not likely to become sick—and the kids that they want to head out as early as possible and get these kids to Austin. I've decided I'm going to go with them. Hopefully there I can connect with my fiancé and let him know I'm okay and where to find me. What about you and your friends?"

Charlie shook her head. "I don't think we'll be going to Austin. We have somewhere else to go instead."

Eloise nodded. "I didn't figure you'd go to Austin. You're going to go after the Patriots aren't you?"

Taken aback, Charlie asked, "Why would you ask that?"

"Because that seems like the type of person you are, Charlie," Eloise said. "I have to go. If the Rangers are going to leave as early as they said, I've got to hurry. I want to pack up as many of my belongings as I can to take with me. I'd also like for the kids to take a memento with them, you know? So they don't forget their families. I want to help them to do that."

"That's a good idea," Charlie said. "I'll help."

"Thanks," Eloise said and left Charlie alone.

"You're leaving us?" Henry's small voice startled Charlie because she hadn't noticed when he'd awoken. "You can't leave us. We need you."

"The Rangers are here now, Henry. They'll take care of you and the others. And Eloise will also look after you," Charlie said in her most soothing voice.

"No. You can't. You came here and you saved us—not the Rangers. If you hadn't come we all would've died," Henry said with all the passion a child can muster. "All of us know it. You can't abandon us now."

"I'm not abandoning you, Henry," Charlie said though it felt like it after his words. "I have things to do. That includes going after the bad people who did this to you and everyone else in Ardmore. We can't let them get away with it."

"But the Rangers will stop them," Henry declared.

"They'll help," Charlie agreed. "But I know people who are better at it. They are fighting them now and they are who I'm going to join so we can stop them once and for all."

Henry grabbed Charlie's arm and yanked on it until she moved to sit with him on his small cot. "Please don't leave me, Charlie," Henry asked and hugged her hard. "I love you."

Charlie felt the tears quietly begin to flow then. Henry's words so closely echoed those of Bass' weeks before. This tenderhearted little boy had broken the dam and her unshed tears flowed. "I love you too, Henry," Charlie whispered as she rocked him back and forth, until he fell asleep once again.

Undone, Charlie made her way quickly out of the quarantine building and kept moving until she found a quiet spot around the corner of a building away from the center of the commotion. She leaned against the building wall and sobbed openly. She cried for Greg Taylor who she had waged a tireless battle to save and failed; for everyone else in Ardmore, especially the children like Henry who she had promised to protect but had failed there too. Now because she was going to break the heart of a boy who had already suffered so much but she couldn't stay here. She couldn't bring him with her either. He needed to be taken care of by doctors and then hopefully put in a home with people who would finally love this soft heart. She wished she could bring him with her, but she couldn't. Any more than she could go with him.

No, she needed to head east. Not only because she had almost desperate need to defeat the Patriots but because she missed Miles. She missed Bass. _Bass, I miss you. I need you_. She couldn't stand the thought of her last moment with Bass being her final one with him. She had run long enough.

"We need your help," a small voice spoke. It startled Charlie, who had placed her head in her hands as she sobbed. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes to brush away the tears so she could see. It was a small boy, no more than seven. He didn't look familiar to Charlie. But shamefully, Charlie had been unable to remember all the faces of the children; they'd been blurred by fatigue and hunger and despair. "Will you please help?" Charlie was about to stand up to let the boy lead her to whoever else needed her help.

"Charlie?" Aaron asked quietly as he approached. He had seen her storm out of the quarantine and had followed her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Charlie said as she turned to look at Aaron. "I need to help this boy…" Charlie turned and the boy was gone. "Strange. You must have scared him off."

"What boy?" Aaron asked.

"The one that was just standing here," Charlie said.

"Nobody was there, Charlie. You're overtired, Charlie and you need to rest. I came to tell you that Priscilla has agreed to your plan to go east," Aaron said. "We need to get the wagon ready."

Charlie stood and looked around one last time, certain she had seen a boy. "Okay. I'm coming."

Ultimately, it was the next day before either the Rangers or Charlie and the others left Ardmore. Charlie had gotten supplies from the Rangers for their trip and packed up the wagon. Charlie personally helped Henry into the wagon that would take him to Austin. As she placed him on the bundle of blankets that would serve as his bed, Charlie whispered in his ear, "I'll never forget you Henry. Never. I promise."

"I'll miss you, Charlie," Henry whispered in a voice that was heavy with tears.

"I'll miss you more, Henry," Charlie promised. "I want you to remember my name: I'm Charlotte Matheson. My uncle is General Matheson and he's who I'm going to join—him and General Monroe. Technically, I'm Lieutenant Matheson with the Monroe militia. We will be fighting the Patriots in the east. Remember my name, Henry, in case you ever need anything."

"I promise to remember," Henry said. Charlie brushed a soft kiss to his temple and then hopped down from the wagon, resisting the tears that once wouldn't fall but now couldn't seem to stop.

Eloise stopped her before she climbed up on the bench of the wagon she would driving. "Do me a favor, Charlie?"

"What's that Eloise?" Charlie asked.

"When you meet up with the Patriots: kick their asses," Eloise requested.

Charlie gave a small smirk. "Got it. With pleasure." Then Charlie added, "Will you do me a favor?"

Eloise nodded.

"Will you look after Henry for me?" Charlie asked. "I just want to know that someone good will be taking care of him now. I can't take him with me…"

"I'll take care of him, I promise," Eloise vowed. "Good luck to you and yours."

"Same to you and everyone else, including your fiancé," Charlie said. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Charlie. Don't let them forget about Ardmore," Eloise called out as she jumped onto another wagon.

"I won't!" Charlie shouted back before taking her seat next to Aaron. She grabbed the reins and then called out for their four horse team to start moving. Charlie would never forget Ardmore. It was after all, now imprinted in her bones—and where Henry was concerned, in her heart too.

* * *

**A/N: **So finally the challenges of Ardmore have come to a close. That means we are getting closer to that reunion everyone is waiting for! Once again, I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave me your thoughts.

Thanks for the well wishes. I definitely plan on continuing and finishing this story, save for three things: an untimely death (RIP Me); my muse abandons me; or I feel readers eventually lose interest. With that said: I'll double check for buses to be cautious, my muse and I are still in a tug of war over wants and plot and you guys have been so lovely I'm hoping against the last one. (This is just to answer a question someone had if my health complications would prevent me from finishing. No; they might slow me down sometimes b/c they are inconvenient but that's all.)


	21. Chapter 21

**_Poison and Wine _**

**_Chapter 21 _**

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, this song remains the same. _Revolution _isn't mine. However all original characters and plots are. Still up for grabs in exchange for David Lyons, however. ;)

**A/N: **I am terribly sorry this has taken me so long! Thanks to everyone who left me wonderful notes/PMs and those that followed/favorite/kudos the story. It all means a lot. Please leave me your thoughts on this chapter too. Thanks. Now on to what you've all been waiting for…

* * *

**Eastern Bank of the Mississippi River, formerly Metro East, Illinois **

The slaughtering of the Patriots had taken them through the dawn hours and by the time the battle had been waged, what had been left of Carter's world of prostitution, gambling and prize fighting had been burned to the ground by the fire that had spread quickly from the Patriots' explosions. It wasn't what Bass had had in mind when he thought to clean the area up. Burning it to the ground reeked of what President Monroe would have done to something that displeased him.

But sometimes a forest needed to burn so that it could continue to grow, he tried to remind himself. Yet the need to blame himself for the failure to save the people in the city persisted. Logically he knew that it was the Patriots' fault, but for so many years Monroe had justified each of his misdeeds as a means to prevent someone else's or the product of one done already. If Bass sought to distance himself from President Monroe, didn't he need to also distance himself from the old patterns? Therefore he kept the guilt of failure close as a reminder—not that he and Miles had failed, but that he was human and that the guilt was natural. Expected if unwarranted.

After the battle had ended, Miles and Monroe and their troops had returned to the bridge to watch the city burn. Without former firefighting apparatuses there was nothing to be done but to watch it burn from a safe distance and hope the wind wouldn't turn and sweep the billowing, suffocating smoke in their direction.

Miles and Monroe didn't let this semi-victory delay their plans. After the fighting and giving the men a chance to settle, the Generals had started instigating plans with the help of Captain Stevenson. He gave them the names of his fastest riders. They were sent with papers, each with a different direction to travel throughout the former Monroe Republic.

"I've heard word of units being around Indiana and Ohio and the Virginias. Last we knew there was still militia in the northeast but I don't know how many. I got this from somebody who was heading west. It's hard because people are nervous about the fallout around Philly. They don't want to get too close and without the technology to test for radiation levels it's hard to know what's safe."

"I think one hundred miles around Philly is probably far enough away of any fallout," Bass said. "I mean, Patriots are settled in Washington, D.C. It's not that far from Philadelphia to Washington. They wouldn't risk being that close if they weren't sure it was safe. I think sending a runner up along the western part of Pennsylvania should be okay."

"Yeah those bastards would never risk their own necks unnecessarily," Miles agreed. "Make sure the fastest runner heads out that way so if there are any men there they can move down to help us."

Captain Stevenson acknowledged his orders and left the tent to carry them out. The two Generals had written out official papers to be carried by the runners to authenticate their orders. Both Generals had instigated a code system at the start of the militia that would be used in messages to confirm they were from either of them. Only commanding officers were given this code, so both Bass and Miles used it hoping that there were commanding officers left to receive the orders delivered by the runners. It was a gamble but it was their only option.

The papers were a request to any unit still in existence to send men to meet Generals Monroe and Matheson in Charlotte, North Carolina. The location hadn't been a fluke but it hadn't been Bass' idea. When Miles had stated the location for the meet up, Bass had only given him a side glance and Miles had just shrugged and said, "For good luck." Bass hadn't argued. There hadn't been anything to argue over. They were in need of some luck.

Anyone in their general vicinity was instructed to send men to join them at Nashville as they planned to unseat the Patriots who had taken up there. After organizing the men who would march with them and those that would stay under Captain Stevenson's command, Bass had reminded the captain that if anyone named Charlotte or Charlie Matheson ever came across anyone in the militia they were to help her in anyway and also show her respect due to her rank as Lieutenant. Those same orders had been distributed with all the runners as well. It was a way that Bass could still look out for Charlie without being directly there for her, though he'd much prefer if he had her back. It felt inadequate but it also felt like he was doing something more for her than just praying. Praying that she was okay, praying that she safe, praying she'd come back. He said these prayers every morning when he woke from another nightmare detailing Charlie's untimely demise. Every morning was a battle for Bass to regain his control. The fear that ate at him made him want to spill blood, wildly and erratically. He'd pray and he'd hold his keepsake tightly in his fist until he remembered who he was supposed to be now.

* * *

**Plains ****Nation, Ramsey Territory**

They traveled for days in near silence. Everyone was tired and so emotionally wrought from their experience in Ardmore that they had little desire to fill in the silence. Aaron rode up front with Charlie while Priscilla sat in the back with the girls. Occasionally Charlie was brow beaten enough to let Priscilla ride up front with Aaron and she sat in the back for a well-deserved rest. It was obvious to Aaron and Priscilla that Charlie still wasn't getting much sleep—even when she let someone else take one of the nightly watches.

It was Aaron who broke the silence first. He decided that everyone just moping wasn't going to make the situation any better. Therefore, on his perch next to Charlie, Aaron asked the girls if they wanted to hear a story. Gabi said nothing but Becca asked about what. He started with his signature _Ghostbusters_ retelling and then proceeded through every relatively child-friendly movie he could remember. They especially enjoyed _The Goonies _and asked Aaron to repeat that one a couple of times. _Pirates of the Caribbean _had also become a favorite as well. Charlie enjoyed listening to Aaron tell the stories she'd heard many times as a young girl. Many of the ones that the girls enjoyed were the same ones that Charlie had liked to hear when she was their age. She even threw out a request for one she remembered about a rabbit and a cop.

_"__Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_" Aaron asked.

Charlie shrugged. "I think so. It's where the rabbit's been accused of murder."

"That's it," Aaron said. "But I don't know if the girls will understand because they never knew cartoons."

Charlie had a vague recollection of cartoons and it suddenly felt weird that she knew something pre-blackout when she normally didn't have any clue about life then. So after they explained that cartoons were just drawings that moved and talked, Aaron had told the girls the story.

Aaron was on his third retelling of the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and he'd just reached the "Why is the rum gone?" scene when Charlie heard the echo of gunshots. She silenced Aaron by raising her hand. In the silence it was clear there was a fight going on nearby. Charlie moved the wagon underneath the cover of trees. She hopped into the back and grabbed her crossbow and bolts, double checked the clip of the gun in her waistband and that the shotgun was loaded. She gave Priscilla the shotgun and Aaron her spare handgun.

"Charlie what the hell do you think you're doing?" Aaron demanded.

"I'm going to check it out," Charlie said.

"No. No. Get back on the wagon and we'll just keep going," Aaron argued.

"What if it's Patriots fighting? We might be heading right for them," Charlie countered. "I'm going to check it out. Keep quiet and pay attention. If anyone comes at you—shoot them and leave. Don't wait for me. I'll take care of myself and I'll track you when I get back. Same goes if I don't come back in a couple hours—don't wait, just go."

"Charlie I am not going to leave you behind. We've never done that to each other and I'm not going to start now."

"You have to. Keeping those girls safe is the number one priority. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"You were never just a little kid."

"All the more reason to trust me and to listen to what I'm telling you. I'll be back soon. I'll cover my tracks so no one will trace them back here," Charlie said.

"Charlie, please don't go," Gabi beseeched. Her words just twisted a knife in Charlie's heart. So many people asking her lately not to leave them behind. _When did the one left behind become the one to leave?_

"Got to. Need to make sure it's safe to keep going this way. I'll be back." It was as close to a promise as Charlie dared. But damned if she wasn't sick of leaving people with no hope of her return. Charlie wasn't that person and she hated that she had become it.

"Can I come with you?"

"No. You stay here. Help keep an eye on things while I'm gone." With that Charlie marched off in the direction the battle sounds were echoing from. She kept crisscrossing her tracks so they wouldn't lead anyone back to the wagon.

There was a small knoll with a cluster of trees that would provide suitable coverage that she made her way to. Charlie perched herself up in a tree for better vantage and coverage. Using the binoculars she brought with her, she focused on the rather ruckus fighting. There was a lot of sword fighting and some basic hand to hand. From what she could tell it appeared to be a war clan fight. No one was wearing the standard Patriot uniform.

Charlie was about to climb down and head back to the wagon when three things caught her eye nearly simultaneously. The first was that some of the fighters were wearing bands on their left arms—and it was decorated with that creepy Patriot eye symbol, which raised her curiosity. As she started watching more closely she noticed that some of those fighters moved in such a similar way that it threw her back into an abandoned building in Austin. They moved the way Jason had when activated. There was some gunfire but it was limited. In such close proximity to each other, both sides were reluctant to use gunfire for fear of accidentally hitting their brethren. As Charlie took in the movements of some she thought she recognized one more but before she could be sure her sight was blocked by one of the largest people she'd ever seen. He was well over six foot she could easily wager even from her distance. He was a solid wall of muscle and a damn lethal fighter. He was sharing blows with one of the Patriot super-soldiers and the Patriot wasn't dominating the man at all. They clearly had similar skills but the older man's experience gave him the slightest edge. Nevertheless, his fight with the Patriot super-soldier stopped the man from noticing another man nearby who had raised a gun at him.

Charlie didn't know what possessed her to do it—later she'd try to rationalize it but couldn't, except maybe it was an enemy of my enemy thing or curiosity over what she thought she had seen. Either way, she raised her crossbow and let loose a bolt into the gullet of the guy so he fell down near the Wall of Muscle. This startled the man and he did a quick survey to ascertain where the bolt had been fired from. Charlie didn't know how—because she was fairly certain she was well hidden—but she could have sworn that the man made eye contact with her.

The melee didn't last much longer and Wall of Muscle's clan was victorious. Charlie helped them out by shooting down three more Patriots. The clan began moving amongst the bodies trying to see if any of their own could be saved and also what could be salvaged from the Patriots. Charlie tried to get a look one more time but couldn't.

"You might as well come out!" Wall of Muscle shouted. Charlie tried to recede deeper into the tree but to no avail. He moved closer in her direction and Charlie knew she'd been made. She could try to flee but that'd only lead them back to the wagon. She would not put Gabi and Becca in danger like that. Wall of Muscle didn't wait for her, but turned back to the rest of his clan confident that she would follow and not shoot him.

Reluctantly Charlie climbed down from the tree and slowly made her way down the small knoll. As she approached the clan she was greeted with speculative glances, hostile ones and appreciative looks as well. For her part, Charlie kept her expression neutral. She didn't want to do anything to instigate these people into holding her prisoner or worse. Wall of Muscle was standing near a small group of people huddled on the ground. She heard a young woman crying. She approached him because she figured he was the leader and also the one that "invited" her to join them. Charlie noticed that the people on the ground were circled around a body.

Charlie's innate nature to help came forth and she pushed herself in amongst them. "Let me through. I may be able to help." But anything else she might have said seemed to have evaporated from her tongue. She hadn't been seeing things; she had been absolutely correct in her assumption. Nevertheless she never expected to see this.

Connor was lying on the ground in a growing pool of blood and his head was resting on the lap of the weeping woman.

Charlie's mind immediately flashed to Bass and what it would do to him if she had to deliver the news that his son was dead. Her mind was not prepared to handle the image of a truly devastated Bass like that. No, she could not bear it. She may not be able to tolerate Connor—believing him to be a selfish, weak fool—but she could not stand to let Bass be hurt that way. She knelt down and pushed away useless hands to see what could be done.

There was a man who seemed to be applying a tourniquet to the leg where the blood was pouring out. Based on the skilled way the man's hands were moving, Charlie recognized that he had some sort of medical training. "Tell me what I can do," Charlie said. "I _can _help."

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"She saved my life by killing one of those khaki lapdogs and she also took out three more," Wall of Muscle said. Charlie was impressed by his keen observation skills even while in battle.

"My grandfather and stepmother were doctors. They taught me things. Let me help," Charlie said.

"Okay. Do as I say," the man said.

For his part, Connor thought he was hallucinating. No doubt brought on by all the blood he knew he was losing. He was getting colder. Some part of him felt the tears hitting his cheek but he knew they weren't his. He never thought all those weeks ago that his life would end on a dirty field in the Plains Nation.

_Terrified screams drew Connor into the woods away from the mirage of his mother. He tied his horse to a tree so it didn't take off on him. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle going on through the piercing screams. Connor approached with caution not wanting to stick his neck out if this was a trap; but the screams sounded so genuine that he could not ignore them. _

_As he approached, he saw a young woman being accosted by three men. They were circling her like vultures. Her clothes were torn and she had a busted lip and a bruise already forming on her jaw. But she wasn't giving an inch to the attackers. She was keeping them at bay by swinging a knife out around her. Even at his most deplorable, Connor had never tolerated mistreating women, even by his men in Mexico. _

_One of the men grabbed the wrist of her hand with the knife and twisted making her cry out again. Connor wasted no time and shot the other two in the head. He didn't dare take a shot on the third in case the girl got in his way. He moved in to assist her but she kicked the guy in the shin and kneed him in the balls before driving her knife in his throat. She ripped it out without thought and used it to turn on Connor. _

_He raised his hands in self-defense to show he meant her no harm. _

_"__Who are you?" she rasped out. She was winded and by the sounds of it one of the men had held her by the throat at one point. _

_"__I don't mean you any harm," Connor said like he was talking to a skittish, wounded, cornered animal. Though she was like no animal at all. She had beautiful caramel skin and rich dark hair like the girls he knew in Mexico. Despite the bruises and cuts and the tattered state of her clothes, the young woman was beautiful. _

_"__Why did you help me?" she asked suspiciously, which dumbfounded Connor. _

_"__I'm sorry—did you want me to let them to continue to assault you?" _

_"__No. I just…people aren't often inclined to help others around here. You'll have to forgive me for being suspicious." _

_"__Well you're welcome," Connor said pointedly because she'd never said thank you. "I'll just leave you to it." _

_"__Fine," she said and made no move to keep him there. _

_Connor slipped away back through the trees. Something compelled him to look back at the girl. She was leaning against a tree, with her arms wrapped around her middle and clearly in pain. The image of his mother that had visited him on the road came to mind. It hadn't been his mother but her image—so long since he'd truly seen his mother—had reminded him of his real mother. Emma Bennett had never raised him to forsake someone in need for himself. It had been a long time since he'd remembered that lesson. It had taken Nunez no time at all to convince a starving, lonely boy it was just the opposite. Cursing himself for a fool, Connor turned around to help the girl. _

_"__Look, I'm not going to hurt you. But you got somewhere to be?" Connor asked._

_"__My people are probably on their way to find me now," the girl explained. "I was taken."_

_"__Charming," Connor said with no humor._

_"__That's the Ramseys for you," she said equally. "Fucking bastards wanted me as a hostage. Thank you for helping me," she finally conceded._

_"__You're welcome. Do you want to try to meet up with your people or do you want to wait for them to find you?" Connor asked._

_"__It'd probably be best if I just wait here. My dad's the best tracker and I'm sure he followed as soon as they realized I was missing. I left signs along the way to make it easier," she said._

_"__I have my horse tethered not too far from here. I'm going to go get him and then I'll wait with you," Connor offered._

_"__You don't have to do that," she declined._

_"__Ever think that maybe it's not just your people tracking you?" Connor suggested. The way her face paled indicated she hadn't. "You are brave and resourceful, just like someone else I know," Connor thought of Charlie with reluctant admiration. "But you aren't going to do much defending of yourself with that tiny knife and injured the way you are. So cut the crap—I'm going for my horse. I'll be back shortly."_

_She had doubted that he'd be back and was surprised when he returned as he said. Then he shared some of his jerk with her and fetched them water from a nearby stream._

_"__My name's Leila," she told him after he'd built a small fire to keep them warm. He was going to put it out before full dark fell so it wouldn't alert any other unwanted people to their location. But he was worried about her falling into shock from her ordeal. He was wrapping his second blanket around her when he heard the hammer being pulled back on a gun next to his head. _

_"__Step away from her or I'll blow your brains out," a deep voice threatened. _

_"__I'd rather not. At this close range I doubt you'll risk her getting hit too," Connor rationalized. _

_"__Daddy stop it," Leila protested. "He didn't do anything to me. He actually saved my life from them." She pointed in the direction that Connor had dragged the bodies towards to keep them away from their campsite. _

_"__How do you know he wasn't in on it?" the large man asked. Connor was intimated by the hulking mass leering over him. He looked like he could crush his skull with his bare hands. He was also incredibly impressed that he never heard this man's approach until it had been too late. A man that large should make a lot more noise. _

_"__I just do. Why would he kill his clansmen?" Leila argued. "That breaks clan code. And he stayed with me even knowing you were coming after me."_

_"__Listen, sir, I understand your reluctance to believe me. But that's gotta wait. Leila needs a doctor. Those guys hurt her. I think she may have a broken rib." _

_"__Gibbs check her out. Sully check the bodies," the man ordered. _

_A small man, closer to Connor's own size but with more muscle, approached. "Let me see darlin'," he told Leila. Connor removed the blankets as Leila leaned back with a grimace. Gibbs raised her shirt and even in the dimming light the myriad of bruises all in sick shades of yellow, green, blue and black were blooming across her stomach. _

_"__Jesus Christ," Connor muttered._

_Gibbs felt around and Leila whimpered under the contact. Reflexively, Connor grabbed her hand and squeezed to distract her. She returned the gesture as Gibbs continued his examination. Eventually he declared, "No broken ribs. They are bruised badly. I don't hear anything in her lungs to suggest she punctured one. She'll be sore but she'll heal."_

_"__Bodies were Ramsey clan," the man named Sully said. He had longer hair than either man—easy in Bones' case as he was bald—and it was pulled back into a ponytail. He was slightly taller than Gibbs and like his companions he was solidly built. "They had these arm bands on; however they now that this eye symbol on it, Bones." Sully showed him one of the bands he'd removed from one of the bodies._

_Connor looked at the man named "Bones." It was obvious how he had earned the moniker. He could easily break bones without a second thought. Connor hoped Leila had been effective in persuading her father that he hadn't meant her any harm. _

_"__Damn it. So it's true. The Ramseys are in these damn Patriot pockets." _

_"__Brant Ramsey was never very bright but always greedy," Sully remarked. _

_"__Patriots are goddamn evil," Connor added. "They poisoned half a town with typhus and also used mustard gas."_

_"__How do you know that?" Bones asked suspiciously. _

_"__Because I was there. I got out while the getting was good. I was headed east when I heard your daughter screaming. I thought I'd see if someone needed my help. You sayin' you wished I'd kept riding?" _

_Bones huffed a breath. "No. I'm thankful you saved her life."_

_"__She was doing a pretty fair job of keeping them at bay and she's the one who slit the guy's throat," Connor remarked._

_"__Of course. I taught her well," Bones said and looked pointedly at Connor's hand still holding Leila's. Connor disengaged quickly. He just wanted to get away with all his limbs fully and safely attached. _

_"__Daddy, stop," Leila remarked. She must have a sixth sense about her father because her eyes were closed as she rested against a tree. _

_"__I didn't do anything sweetheart," Bones said. Connor couldn't help but infer the unspoken "yet." Leila snorted in disbelief and groaned from the effort._

_"__Take it easy, darlin'," Gibbs admonished. "We should get her back to the others so I can put an ointment on those ribs. Plus she could use a warm bath to help relieve the soreness."_

_"__I'll just be on my way then," Connor added hopefully. _

_"__No. You've got to come back with us," Leila argued. _

_"__Leila—" Bones protested but his stubborn daughter cut him off. _

_"__He saved my life. He took care of me and stayed to protect me until you showed up. He also shared his supplies with me. Where I come from that means I'm in his debt. And so are you because I'm your daughter," Leila said. She pierced her father with her chocolate colored eyes. Connor was amazed to see this massive man kowtow to his petite daughter's demands. Connor didn't know what clan they belonged to but it obviously wasn't the Ramsey clan. It was also clear that Bones was the war clan leader. Obviously, the Ramseys had successively guessed Bones' Achilles heel and in turn the one thing he'd most fiercely protect._

_"__She's right. We owe you," Bones agreed. "You'll come with us and we'll replace your stuff."_

_"__There's no need," Connor hedged, eager to avoid being taken to the clan's base camp. He recalled Charlie telling him that Duncan had taken her prisoner and sold her to Gould. Of course, Duncan had settled a debt she owed Charlie for later saving her life. Connor hoped Bones followed that same code because he didn't see how he was going to get out of going when Bones replied, "It's not up for discussion." _

_"__How are you going to get Leila there, hurt as she is?" Connor asked. "I'd let her ride my horse but I think that'll just abuse her ribs further."_

_Bones gave him a curious look before responding. "I'll carry her," he said simply. Connor didn't doubt that he could. Probably up the face of a mountain without breaking a sweat, either._

_"__No, Daddy. I'll ride Connor's horse. You shouldn't be encumbered in case we are attacked," Leila said. _

_"__You are in no shape to hold yourself on a horse," Bones argued. _

_"__Connor will ride with me and keep me from falling," Leila added. The withering look Bones spared him made Connor wish he'd just kept riding. _

_"__Get on the horse, boy. Between the two of us we'll get Leila on the horse safely," Gibbs interjected. _

_"__Gibbs—" _

_"__You're her father. I'm her doctor. She's hurt so right now I trump you. Let's get going before it is complete night out."_

_Connor rode the entire way conscious of every spot that his and Leila's bodies touched. As well as Bones' telepathically sent threats to break each of those parts on Connor's body if he didn't behave himself. Connor had felt sweat drip down his spine during a night turned cool by the absence of the sun. Connor had thoroughly intended to drop Leila off with her clan, replenish his supplies and beat a hasty retreat. But when he'd shown up and his role in Leila's rescue explained, a woman who had Leila's same caramel skin and big brown eyes had expressed her gratitude that he'd saved her daughter. Connor's plans to make a quick exit blew away on the prairie wind. Paloma, Leila's mother, had refused to let him get away with so sparse a thank you. She had scolded her husband, "Isn't your daughter's life worth more than that?!" Connor understood Leila's ability to influence her father had been inherited. _

_A feast was planned to celebrate Leila's safe return and the man who had saved her. Connor's intentions to leave following the unnecessary appreciation feast were also unfounded. Something kept him tethered to the clan like a horse to a post. Maybe it was the way Leila had approached him at the feast to request a dance as a couple clansmen sang and played guitars. As he had held her as close as he dared with her father nearby, Connor had suddenly been swept away by how beautiful she was. She was small, no more than five foot five and built smaller like her mother than her father. Her smile was wide and beautiful, even with the ugly yellow of a fading bruise marring her chin. She moved slowly, encumbered by her healing ribs. When the dance was over she had raised herself on her tiptoes and said into his ear, "Thank you for saving my life, Connor." Then she'd pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. Connor had flinched at the touch. He told himself it was because he was bracing himself for the bullet to pierce his head instead of the fierce flow of energy like lightning that had surged into him from her simple kiss. It was safer and simpler to focus on the former than the latter. _

_Especially when Bones approached him later that night. "I saw you dancing with my girl," Bones remarked._

_"__She asked me to. I didn't think it'd be polite to say no," Connor said. _

_"__I'm watching you," Bones threatened. And that sent Connor's cocky Monroe mouth into high drive. He was fed up with Bones' redundant threats, especially when he hadn't done anything to merit them. _

_"__Bones, I haven't done anything suspicious for you to be worried about. All I did was help someone who needed it. I think you're just pissed that I beat you to it."_

_"__You seem to have caught my daughter's eye," Bones commented. "She's young and has her mother's romantic heart. She's infatuated by you because you saved her."_

_"__Well that's hardly my fault," Connor argued. It also made him bristle at the implications his words left. "Your daughter is quite remarkable. Maybe you should give her more credit than that. And she believes I mean her no harm. So maybe you should trust your daughter."_

_"__Oh, I believe you don't want to use Leila to get at me," Bones agreed with false affability. "But I also know you are keeping a secret about who you really are, _Connor_." _

_The next several weeks Connor walked the fine line of slowly surrendering to the feelings Leila was engendering in him. Bones had it wrong: Connor wasn't seducing Leila, but rather it was the opposite that was true. He tried resisting because he didn't want to inspire more of Bones' ire. But neither could he compel himself to do the sensible thing and leave the clan behind. Leave her behind. _

_During his time with the clan, he learned that he was travelling with the Skinner clan, which had been driven off their land in the northern center of the Plains Nation by their northern neighbors, the Merrick clan. Merrick had been making attacks on the other neighboring clans once the Patriots had shown up. Bones believed Merrick was in bed with the Patriots, just as Ramsey was. Ramsey's men had kidnapped Leila as ransom to get Bones to surrender his clan. Connor's rescue of Leila before she could be taken to Brant Ramsey had stopped that from happening. _

_The Skinner clan had been inside a portion of the old Page territory when Leila had been taken. Bones, Sully and Gibbs had been tracking her for three days when Connor had found her. Paloma and the others had followed behind, heading towards Ramsey. Now Bones wanted to continue heading south to reach Brant Ramsey and disembowel him for having dared to hurt his daughter. Connor felt inclined to agree the more he got to know Leila and reluctantly care for her. So he followed and joined in on every battle the Skinners waged on the Ramseys. By doing so he'd even begrudgingly earned Bones' respect, if not his absolute trust. They were finishing up the last of the Ramsey clan in this portion of the territory when Charlie had come across them. _

"He'll live. I can't get the bullet out of his leg," the medic—Gibbs—told Charlie as they finished working on Connor. "He'll probably have a limp; it's in his bone. I'm worried about infection the longer it's left there. But I'm not eager to attempt surgery out here without proper tools."

"I can take Connor with me to my grandfather. He could operate," Charlie suggested.

"Charlie?" Connor croaked as he started to come around. He had eventually passed out from the pain of Gibbs and Charlie working on his leg.

"You know each other?" the girl—Leila—asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. We know each other. Listen, I have a wagon a ways back. I'll go get it and you can help me get him on it. I'm headed to meet my grandfather anyway."

"Where's that?" Bones asked.

"East. Around Nashville," Charlie said.

"I'm going with you," Leila declared.

"Like hell you are," Bones refused.

"Dad, I can make my own choices. I'm not leaving Connor. I love him."

Charlie looked in shook between the girl and her Wall of Muscle father, then down at Connor. When she had last seen Connor she never expected to find him tangled up with a war clan, especially over a girl.

"Damn it, Leila," Wall of Muscle cursed.

"No, Dad."

Wall of Muscle released a frustrated breath. "You saved my life and the lives of my clansmen with your crossbow. You've also helped save Connor's life. That means we are indebted to you. We are headed east anyway—I have an appointment with Brant Ramsey."

Something in the way Wall of Muscle spoke sent a shiver down Charlie's spine. It was lethal like President Monroe or General Matheson; not because of the inherent threat but the absolute promise to carry it out.

"It's dangerous 'round these parts lately—clan wars and Patriots all over the damn place. We'll see you both safely across the rest of the Plains with one stop at Ramsey's doorstep."

"Charlie—trust him," Connor mumbled.

And despite her better judgment, Charlie did. She fetched the wagon and the others who had been floored by the turn of events. Connor was placed in the wagon and Charlie and company joined Bones Skinner and his clan on their bloody march across Ramsey territory to raze it to the ground.

* * *

**A/N Part Two: …**Not the reunion you were hoping for? Oops. My bad. Lol. Sorry, I couldn't resist. ;) I have one more transition chapter to get us through just to set up dynamics and then the groups meet up! Thanks so much for hanging in there with me. Want a bit of good news? The next chapter is written, I just have to get around to editing it. :D Once again, I'd love it if you left me your thoughts.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 22_**

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**A/N: **Thanks once again for sticking in there. This is the final transition chapter. I'm wrapping up some things; moving things a bit faster here to get us back as one group. Because frankly there's only so many on-the-road things that can be shown. But I do need to set up some different dynamics. Hang in there. Next chapter is the good stuff. And once again, pretty please leave me some feedback. : )

* * *

Connor was annoyed and trying very hard not to be. But it was goddamn frustrating watching Bones be buddy-buddy with Charlie. What the hell was it with the girl? First his father, now Bones. Connor had woken from his delirium to a bumpy wagon ride as Charlie drove them across the plains. Leila had refused to be parted from him and had held his head on her lap the entire journey. A rough bed had been made to help cushion his leg from every jostle of the wagon, but it wasn't much and he felt every rut and bump like punch to his leg.

It hadn't helped that his injury had prevented him from joining the Skinner clan during their final wiping out of the Ramsey clan. He was in no condition to fight; damn it all he barely walked now. He was a young man and he was a gimp. Not that it appeared to matter to Leila but it mattered to him. He could no longer protect her anymore. Which meant he'd lost any tenuous accord between him and the always dubious Bones. However, Charlie had just swept right in and won the clan leader over with her versatile skills as a hunter, fighter, cook, medic. You named it; Charlie seemed to know how to do it. In fact, Bones and she had entered into a competition with each other which amused them and others greatly. Both had phenomenal tracking skills and liked to test each other's abilities. The clan had been seriously impressed when Charlie had successfully completed Bones' first challenge for her. Now Charlie was entering the fray each time they met up with more Ramsey men or Patriots, while Connor stayed and made sure the wagon didn't roll itself away.

Once again he wasn't necessary. And he couldn't bear Leila's pity as he struggled to walk with the unrelenting pain that spiked up through his skeleton every time he took a step. Now he couldn't even head east and reclaim the republic his father had foolishly lost. Not that Connor had thought much about his original intentions to rebuild the republic since meeting up with Leila and the rest of the clan. He had nothing now. With that, Connor had grabbed a rucksack and the walking stick that had been fashioned for him and begun walking away from their most recent makeshift campsite. They were celebrating on the front yard of Brant Ramsey's mansion. He'd been a pompous war clan leader and believed he deserved to live on a mansion compound, instead of the tent villages like most of his clan's people.

The clan had laid siege on the Ramsey security while Bones, Gibbs, Sully and (who else?) Charlie had snuck into the house to hunt out Brant Ramsey. He'd been found cowering on the floor of a closet. Bones had picked him up like he was nothing and dragged him outside before the remaining members of his fallen clan. Then he'd beheaded the man in front of his followers. "This is for thinking you could touch my daughter and get away with it," Bones said before his blade swung down.

The bodies had been dragged into the house and when they left the compound in the morning, they were going to burn it to the ground. There were still a few, miscellaneous clansmen out there but not enough to be worried about—especially when their leader had been killed. Only one Ramsey man had been spared so he could go out and tell everyone that Bones Skinner had killed Brant Ramsey.

Connor had been a bystander for all of this. Even Leila had been in on the fighting. That just wasn't something that Connor could live with so he was going to leave, which was what he should have done weeks prior. Connor's gait was slow and lumbered, and mostly he was just dragging his bum leg along, as he snuck away through the woods.

"So you're just going to leave her without saying a word?" Charlie asked as she came out from behind a tree, startling him.

"Damn it, Charlie! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I think that should be my line," Charlie remarked.

"I'm leaving. Isn't it obvious?"

"Yes. I recognize each of your cowardly gestures," Charlie sneered.

"I'm not a coward," Connor said through gritted teeth.

Charlie snickered. "What do you call slinking off at night without so much as a goodbye?"

"A clean break," Connor countered.

"For who?"

"Look, things are different now," Connor tried to argue but Charlie wouldn't listen to him.

"You are more of an idiot than I ever gave you credit for. She really loves you, you know?" Charlie said. "I mean, for the life of me I can't see what Leila sees in you. But she sees something. And for a minute I thought she could bring out the best in you but you still can't see past the end of your own nose."

"I'm useless to her now!" Connor snapped.

"Did she say that?" Charlie inquired.

"No, of course not. She feels like she owes me because I saved her life," Connor said, recalling Bones' similar words weeks before.

"That's such bullshit. You can be grateful and still see someone clearly," Charlie said and thought of Monroe. She had been thankful that he had shown up conveniently at the right moment in Pottsboro but that didn't mean that she still hadn't recognized the monster beneath the man. And later, when she'd come to know him better and care for him, she'd been able to see the man as easily as the monster. She knew that he had both inside of him always. Love wasn't supposed to blind you; love made you see things in new, clearer ways you hadn't before.

"She needs protection. She's the daughter of a war clan leader and I'm—"

"The son of a former dictator?" Charlie supplied.

"Either way, both put targets on her back and I can't do anything to keep her safe. By leaving I can remove some of the danger," Connor argued.

"That's a really noble plan, Connor, except for one part," Charlie observed. "How about the fact that Leila and everyone else have no idea who you really are? So you aren't that much of a threat to Leila when no one can tie you to Monroe. I have to say I was surprised to discover that you hadn't told them of your illustrious rights to a broken throne. So that's how you know Leila really cares about you, Connor. She doesn't have any aspirations to sit beside her dictator husband; she also had no desire to cower behind her husband because she's too afraid to protect herself. She loves you. And you're going to throw that away because you feel bad for yourself. You're right: Leila deserves better than you. Not because you're lame but because you're weak."

"I'm not weak," Connor growled. Though he felt that way.

"Prove it. Drag your pathetic ass back to camp and remember Leila loves you. Try to act like maybe you deserve her to. If it had been Leila instead of you, would you want her to run away without so much as a "Bye. It's been fun?'"

"No."

"Then show her the same courtesy. Or better yet show more brains than I believe you truly capable of and stay with her. Come with me to my grandfather who can operate on your leg and hopefully fix it. But you probably won't do that because that'd require you to be brave, selfless and smart. I've yet to see you exhibit any of those traits."

"God you're such a bitch. For the life of me I can't understand my father's infatuation with you."

"He loves me," Charlie said boldly.

"Then why aren't you with him?" Connor sneered.

"Because I'm not perfect and I was stupid, cowardly and selfish. I thought of myself when I left—not what it would mean to him when I did," Charlie admitted. "So I speak from experience, Connor. But I'm still braver and smarter than you because at least I'm turning around to return to him."

Connor said nothing to her declaration. They just continued to stare at each other until Charlie moved to the side to let Connor pass by her. He looked ahead a moment, squeezed his eyes shut, cursed and turned back towards the camp.

* * *

"That was an incredibly kind thing you just did," Priscilla commented when Charlie had made her way through the trees back to the others. She had waited long enough so she wouldn't overtake Connor's walk back and make him feel worse. Priscilla nodded and Charlie moved her eyes to that direction and saw Connor sitting with Leila, his arm draped around her as she leaned into him.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"I figured he'd make a break for it eventually. I recognized the signs from when Aaron left. He'd be a fool because she's the best thing to happen to him," Priscilla commented.

"She is. He doesn't deserve her. But who can control who they love and who loves them?" Charlie said.

"That's true. I fell in love with Greg even while I still loved Aaron. Of course part of me hated Aaron for leaving me, especially when I learned I was pregnant. I treasured that baby because it was my last link to Aaron and even though he hurt me I still loved him," Priscilla confessed.

"But you have a second chance now. Aren't you going to take it?"

"I don't know. Finding Aaron again feels like a painful miracle. Or a delayed answer to prayers. But it's not just me now. I have my daughters to think about. Loving Aaron and wanting to be with him—I've loved him for over twenty years and that just doesn't go away no matter the choices I made—might not be the best thing for them, especially when they just lost their father and I've just gotten them back," Priscilla answered.

"Priscilla?"

Both Charlie and Priscilla looked in surprise to see Aaron nearby on the other side of the wagon they were standing near, holding two plates of food.

"Oh Jesus," Charlie murmured. Priscilla said nothing, too stunned to say anything. "I'll just let you two talk alone." She took one of the plates and returned to the others.

"Priscilla—"

"Forget it Aaron," she requested.

Aaron shook his head. "I can't. I can't ignore what I heard." Aaron looked around until his eyes settled on Gabi and Becca who were playing tag with some of the clan kids. "Gabi—but…" His genius mind was stumbling over the incorrect math and the very clear implication that Priscilla had been pregnant when he'd left her.

"She's not yours."

"So then what happened to my kid? You abandoned it?" Aaron snapped.

"Like you did me?" Priscilla returned then quickly raised her hands in a show of truce.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm just in shock and trying to understand."

"Let's sit down," Priscilla suggested.

Together they sat and she told Aaron the full story of her life after he'd left and how she had ultimately lost their child. Aaron wept with old guilt and fresh grief. His heart felt weighted down in his chest, pressed down upon by the note that Greg Taylor had left with Charlie to give to him.

_Dear Aaron Pittman,_

_These are a dying man's last words and I want you to carry them out. Priscilla is an amazing woman and a fabulous mother. I know she'll look after our girls, which is a relief to me as I prepare my final goodbyes. But I worry for Priscilla. She needs to be looked after too. I'm counting on you to finally be up to the task. I took care of her at her most weak and vulnerable—when it should have been you. _

_Don't get me wrong: I'm glad you left because I'm selfish enough to want all the years I had with her and our daughters. I'm apparently not destined for any more than I've had. I know Priscilla has continued to love you all these years in a part of her heart. Now it's your turn to look after her and our children as I leave them. Please. _

_And never let my girls forget how much I loved them. _

_Greg Taylor_

* * *

Charlie gave a discreet look at Aaron and Priscilla who were both weeping and embracing each other. Charlie's heart broke for them. She remembered Bass' expression when he'd told her about Shelley and their baby. It must be like ripping open an old scar for her and cutting a new one into Aaron.

Charlie couldn't help but notice the parallels between Priscilla's life and her mother's. Rachel still loved Miles despite all the bad things he either personally did or had done to her. Loved him enough to forgive him despite her caustic comments to Charlie the first time they had seen each other in years. It was like it had just been swept under a rug. Which was frustrating when Rachel refused Bass the same forgiveness, if only for Charlie's sake.

But Rachel didn't love Charlie enough to be that selfless. She'd rather cling to the bitter memory of a ghost—a son she never knew because Rachel had walked away from her family. She'd lost Danny years ago by her volition. Charlie had often wondered how and why Rachel could have left Danny behind back then. Her answers made her uncomfortable but also a little freer to finally have some understanding. It always tied back to Miles. He was the source of her Achilles heel. Rachel never bothered to mention Ben anymore in her relentless grudge against Bass. Ben was an afterthought; a regret. A substitute person like her. Charlie was even more thankful now that they had found Maggie so that Ben could have a semblance of a happy life before dying.

Charlie wondered if part of mother's attachment to Miles was the fact that he was unobtainable. First, because he was her brother-in-law; then because he was the right-hand-man of a dictator. Maybe Miles had even rejected her at one point. For her mother everything was like a puzzle—one of those multicolored cubes she remembered Aaron having in Sylvania Estates—but Miles was a riddle with no easy answer. Rachel couldn't twist and turn pieces to make things the way she wanted. To have Miles meant hurting Ben. The solution required no twists because it was the puzzle that was twisted. It was Rachel's desire that was wrong; the only solution to that was to untwist it. To un-want Miles. But people always seemed to want most that which they could not have; she supposed her mother, who was often the most inhuman person she knew, was no exception to that fatal flaw either.

"You got any energy to talk after all that heavy thinking you're doing?" Bones asked her upon his approach.

"Sure. What kind of right answers do you need from me now?" she said with a grin.

"Cheeky wench." But Bones chuckled muting the insult. "I want to thank you for your help today."

"I made a promise to someone to kick the asses of every Patriot I found—including anyone helping or working for them. So the pleasure was mine to keep my word," Charlie said thinking of Eloise. She hoped that she and Henry were safe and whole in Austin by now.

"I want to know your plans now. We are no more than a day's ride from the Mississippi."

"I told you: Find my grandfather around Nashville."

"Just how do you know he'll be there? I thought you said he was from a town called Willoughby," Bones noted.

"He is. But he has a personal vendetta against the Patriots. He'll have gone to Nashville," Charlie said, no doubt in her mind.

"Why there?"

"Because there are loads of Patriots there and one of their reeducation centers I told you about for the Patriot Special Forces," Charlie answered.

Bones had been affronted when Charlie had told him about the super-soldier factories because when there'd been a U.S. government he'd served in the military as a Navy SEAL. She'd tried to get him to tell stories about some of his missions but he claimed that he'd given his word to keep quiet about his job and he intended to keep it. "I just don't understand what an elderly doctor can do to fight these Patriots."

"He's spryer than you're imagining. But it's more about who I know he is traveling with. Generals Matheson and Monroe have been sanctioned by Texas to clean up the east coast of Patriots and were given an army of Texas Rangers to get the job done," Charlie informed him.

"Those crazy sons of bitches are at it again?" Bones snorted.

"What do you mean?"

"We've fought a couple times. They sure have some brass ones. Obvious they had real military training unlike most of the damn namby-pambies who got a taste of power and fancied themselves leaders. Then it all went to shit for them, like most things do," Bones said. "But if they are working together again I believe there may be a chance to clean this country of these Patriots."

"They really are everywhere," Charlie remarked.

"Yeah and don't think I'm not suspicious about that and the convenient timing of their arrival just after two nukes were dropped on the capitals of the two republics controlling the eastern seaboard," Bones said.

"They were certainly organized," Charlie agreed. She wasn't telling Bones about all her firsthand knowledge about the role the Patriots played in the nukes and the blackout. She'd never revealed herself as a Matheson either. That was why she'd also kept Connor's secret for him—they were both mutually agreeing to keep their mouths shut.

"Yeah. What I can't understand is how easily people have bought into their bullshit. These Patriots couldn't help after the blackout as the country collapsed but after two well-timed bombs—which how did they know about them anyway, tragically marooned in Cuba as they were?—suddenly they have the manpower and supplies to help people. Most people want someone else to take care of things for them when life gets scary. These Patriots capitalized on that and everyone ate their food and swallowed their bullshit at the same time."

"I always believed the only person you could rely on was yourself," Charlie said.

"People remember an easier time than you do," Bones said. "Grocery stores would be a luxury to you; to others they were commonplace. It's all a matter of perspective. But the Patriots want the ones who can't stand on their own—lemmings if you will."

"Like children," Charlie said, thinking of Ardmore. "They'll wipe out anyone in their way."

"I figure that's what happened to the Collins clan. You said that sick S.O.B. Titus Andover was hired by the Patriots to cause some trouble in Texas. On their move south, Andover went into all-out war with the Collins tribe. I'm not talking about border skirmishes either. And we heard about smallpox sweeping through the territory too. There aren't many Collins' left—and the Page tribe was wiped out too. Andover and Page bordered Collins. The Patriots kept heading west once they had cleared out Page's territory and started a second front on them while Andover occupied them in the west. I bordered Collins to the north and Patriots and the Merrick clan came at us hard. I moved my people rather than surrender lives for land. There's always land. No point in being slaughtered when you can just regroup and go back and take back what's yours later."

"Good idea," Charlie said.

"But the point is all of this feels really well organized for people who just came up on boats from Cuba after years of isolation. I just don't know what they want with the Plains. It's a poor agrarian, nomadic culture. It doesn't have the money or technology of Georgia or even the Monroe Republic. You can bet that whatever the Patriots are doing they've got a secret agenda that always falls down the line in their favor," Bones said, letting his thoughts spew out as he tried to piece together another part of these mysterious Patriots and their equally enigmatic motives.

"That's why I've got to get east to join my family as they fight these monsters," Charlie said.

"Like I said, we aren't far from St. Louis. There's a crossing there. If there's any remaining Ramsey men there, we'll take 'em out and you can crossover. However, if Ramsey was working with the Patriots they aren't going to want to relinquish any control of that river because it's a mighty powerful tool and ally if you can control it," Bones told her.

"You think it'll be hard crossing over?"

"Don't worry. You saved my life and the lives of my clansmen as well as fought beside us. We'll see you and yours safely across."

"What will you do then?" Charlie wondered.

"I'm a war clan leader. We'll find more Patriots and make war on them. Their very existence pisses me off because I served the true U.S. government proudly for nearly twenty years. I did not serve these assholes."

"I've heard something similar before," Charlie said, struggling against a yawn.

"Boring you am I?" Bones joked.

"Immensely," Charlie teased back.

"You know, you do look like shit, kid. I'm taking you off watch tonight. Try to get some sleep," Bones told her.

"Thanks. Your concern is overwhelming," Charlie said dryly.

Bones barked out a laugh and genially patted her knee. "You ain't bad kid."

She'd heard that one too, from another clan leader a long time ago. Charlie found her bedroll and lied down. Even after leaving Ardmore, her ghostly visits hadn't abated. Dad and Danny kept questioning her decision to head back to Bass. There were still the endless rows of nameless graves that always led her to her own. But like Maggie and Nora had changed her dreams of her father and brother, so now was her nightmare of Ardmore altered. She didn't walk down between the two rows of stones but was dragged down between them by the little boy from the alley. But when they reached the end where her grave was the boy always disappeared. No matter how hard she tried, Charlie could never pull herself out of that dream. Not until after she watched the boy claw his way out of _her_ grave and ask her why she won't save them from this.

* * *

Charlie wasn't the only one suffering from unrelenting nightmares. Bass was also trying to escape nightly demons. He was doing this by getting especially rip-roaring drunk tonight. Of course, it was all under the guise of celebrating a hard won battle and the timely arrival of Major Samantha Frye and her unit of militiamen after a runner had reached their location near the Kentucky/Illinois/Indiana border.

He and Miles had really gotten into it this time. They were marching south towards Nashville from St. Louis when they had come across some Patriots. Feeling confident, they engaged them but hadn't been prepared for a second group of Patriots to back up the first. He, Miles and their men had been pinned down and squatting for cover in a bit of woods away from the battlefield. Miles and he were trying to brainstorm a way out of that particular mess when the sound of renewed fighting drifted to them. They prepared for their inevitable massacre and each had tried to come to terms with their lives and mistakes but that had all faded into confusion when no Patriots attacked them.

Major Frye had noticed their predicament and had split her men up to attack from the outside. Miles and Monroe realized they were not under attack but being sent reinforcements instead. They sent their men to fight the surrounding Patriots from the inside out. With the extra manpower and a complete reversal of their positions, the Generals had decimated the Patriots.

Now everyone was celebrating their victory and burning off the adrenaline caused by their brief brush with death by imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. Bass kept pissing off Miles by stealing his whiskey because his own bottle was long gone. "Goddamn it Bass. Give it back. I'm going to cut your damn hand off if you touch my whiskey again," Miles griped as he once again ripped the bottle from Bass' grubby fingers. "Asshole."

Bass snickered unoffended. "You want to know what I'm surprisingly thankful for right now?"

"My winning personality and generosity of spirit?"

Bass snorted. "Get real, brother," and Miles laughed at his own joke. "No. I found myself for the first time grateful that Charlie isn't with us when we were pinned down in that forest earlier. I thought for sure we were going to die and I was glad she wasn't there."

Bass' words burned through some of his buzz and Miles sobered up. "Yeah me too. But you ever wonder why she isn't? I thought for sure she'd have come back by now. I mean we are weeks behind schedule in reaching Nashville. She could have tracked us down by now."

"I think about it every day. Every alternative has spun its way through my head. The easiest to live with is that she simply doesn't want to be here," Bass admitted.

"Maybe she decided to settle down wherever Priscilla's kids are. Maybe Charlie found something to hold onto," Miles said as he built up his buzz again.

"Maybe, brother," Bass said.

"You think we'll be able to hold our shit together much longer without her here to boss us around?" Miles thought.

"I don't know," Bass answered honestly.

"Stupid kid. Wasn't supposed to be this way. I was going to drink myself to death. But then she showed up and made me care. Now I miss her. Chronic pain in my ass," Miles said so wistfully that Bass smiled. Whether Miles admitted it or not he loved Charlie like a father loved his daughter.

Bass left Miles to his whiskey after that. He knew he wasn't nearly drunk enough to handle the images that Miles' words had wrought. He swiped another bottle of whiskey and swigged from it as he stumbled his way towards his lonely tent. He supposed it was a nice image of Charlie settling down and building a family for herself. It would be if the idea of her doing that with someone else didn't leave him completely gutted when he'd wanted those things with her himself. Bass knew her feelings on marriage and children, and he supposed he understood them, but it hadn't been enough to prevent the hope from rooting in him that she'd eventually change her mind.

But hoping for Charlie to change her mind unless she was good and ready was like trying to catch a waterfall in a paper cup. Completely useless. Both Charlie and the waterfall were unchangeable and untamable.

But no matter the pain brought by Miles' drunken ramblings, it was a better feeling than the agony inflicted on him nightly. Miles' suggestion was easier to live with because at least she was still living—even if with someone else. Bass feared that Charlie wasn't with them because she was dead—done in by any number of ways that played out in his sleep every night. Every end was grisly and always, always, because he'd failed to protect her. Bass averaged three hours of sleep on a good night.

Even drunk as he was, Bass felt the fear of his dreams like a living beast inside of him. He never slept as well as he had when he'd been wrapped around Charlie or her around him. Even if he had slept lightly then, ready to hear any danger to her, at least he had slept peacefully. He hadn't had a peaceful night since she'd walked away from him and carelessly shredded everything that had been slowly building between them with her, "I'm not your baby. Goodbye Monroe."

Bass just wanted to see her, touch her, smell her vanilla and lavender soap on her beautiful skin. Taste what could only be described as Charlotte. Hear her soft gasp whenever he would slide into her inviting heat. Now he was imagining her in bed with someone else, which danced too closely to the memory of finding her naked with Connor. No, Bass did not want to think of Charlie being with Connor at this moment. He took a long pull of whiskey to drown those thoughts. He tripped slightly over his feet as he entered his tent.

"You okay there, General?"

Bass searched for the source of the voice and saw a naked Greta waiting for him on his cot. She had been trying since Charlie had left to get him into bed with her. He'd resisted every time but he was tempted to give in tonight.

He could let himself believe he was drunk enough to imagine Greta's eyes were more blue than green, her hair was dark blonde and not light brown, her curves more subtle but still supple.

"Thought you'd want to celebrate today's miraculous victory properly," Greta suggested and gave him her most provocative smile. Bass told himself it was wider, brighter and more sarcastic than it really was.

In short, Bass could convince himself that she was his Charlotte and he could have one more night with her. As well as his first night of dreamless sleep in weeks. Because it had to be her always for him; even when it wasn't her. Bass took another swig of whiskey and stepped towards the bed.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Poison and Wine_**

**_Chapter 23_**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: **Terribly sorry about the delay in posting this. Heads up: the Charloe reunion is not here. That will be in the next chapter. I decided they deserved their own chapter and Charlie had things to take care of first (also having both here really threw my word count). Second, the issue at the end of last chapter (which had a universal reaction of "Nooooo!" btw) is not addressed here. **Sorry I didn't reply to everyone's comments like I usually do; but since they were nearly all the same I'd like to say to you all: I'm sorry for the upset but hang on. And thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate the comments, promise, but I've been swamped this week, under the weather and also dealing with a death.** I have the majority of the next chapter written, but I've decided to expand on it a bit so I won't be posting immediately (just think MORE CHARLOE to keep from being bummed about the delay). Also, I have an upcoming wake and a funeral to attend so I don't know when I'll be posting next. This also is why I decided to post this part now; I figured something was better than nothing at all. Your patience is appreciated. : (

* * *

Bones got Charlie and the others to St. Louis in a day like he said. Bones had been right that the crossing at St. Louis was going to be heavily guarded. But no one anticipated that it would be under the banner of the Monroe Republic and not the Patriots.

"Turn around," they were ordered by a sentry.

"Afraid I can't do that," Bones called back. A small group crowded around Bones as support. Charlie had driven the wagon close to the front of the group.

"No war clans may cross by orders of the Monroe Republic and its Generals," the guard informed.

"Look I have people who need to get across to find their family," Bones explained.

"Stand back and turn around. This is your final warning. We will open fire on hostile forces," the guard warned.

"You're really threatening a fully armed war clan?" Bones asked, his tone conveying how ridiculous he thought the man was.

"Oh, for heaven's sake they are going to get us all killed," Charlie griped as she tossed Aaron the reins. "If this goes south get yourselves out—fast. No waiting. Girls, stay down," Charlie ordered. She pushed her way through to the front to stand beside Bones. "Hold your fire. I'm the one he's trying to get across the river."

"And who are you?" the guard inquired.

Charlie took a deep breath and prayed that her ace wasn't going to wind up with her six feet in the ground. "My name is Charlie," she told him. "Charlotte Matheson. Technically it's Lieutenant Charlotte Matheson with the Monroe Militia." She raised her arm and pulled her sleeve up to show her brand. The guard called down to someone.

As they waited, Bones said, "Matheson? As in General Miles Matheson?"

"He's my uncle," Charlie confessed.

"And this whole time you've been a militia member?"

"_That's_ complicated. I'm not really a member. The entire thing was set up by Bass and Miles as a way to keep me safe within the militia because they knew I'd never join the militia."

"Then what's with the brand?"

"That's a funny story—and also very complicated. Now really isn't the time to get into it," Charlie said.

The gate opened and a man walked out. He had thinning red-hair, a tall lean frame and was at least a decade older than Charlie. "Are you Charlie Matheson, Lieutenant in the militia?" he addressed her.

"I'm Charlie Matheson," Charlie said by way of acknowledging her identity without declaring herself a legitimate part of the militia. Unfortunately she had no papers, uniform or secret handshake to prove herself, a realization that came to her along with the conclusion that the militia might shoot her on the spot for impersonating an officer. All she had to save her life was the brand on her arm—and wasn't that a kick in the pants? Bones seemed to be thinking her same thoughts because his hand moved over his gun holster in anticipation of trouble.

"Miss, please come with me," the man requested.

"She's not going anywhere until you tell us what you plan to do with her," Bones spoke up.

"I have been given explicit orders regarding Lt. Matheson. I need to verify her identity first."

Crap. "What orders?" Charlie wondered.

"To assist you in any way you require," the man answered, flooring Charlie.

"You mean they've been here?"

"Generals Matheson and Monroe came through not that long ago. They've given orders throughout the militia," he explained. "Now will you follow me please?"

"Hang on. You can verify her identity right here," Bones argued.

"You cannot stop me from speaking with a fellow officer," the man countered.

"I can and will when she is still in my protection," Bones disputed. "Verify all you want right here."

"What's going on?" Connor asked from the back of the wagon. He couldn't see or hear what was going on.

"Charlie and Bones are talking with a guard," Aaron answered. "There is apparently an issue with the militia about us crossing over. Wait—here she comes."

"All right. Let's go. They just want to see who is crossing with me," Charlie said.

"Everything okay?" Aaron asked.

"Yes. They just needed to confirm my identity," Charlie assured.

Everyone followed Charlie back to the front of the group, Connor bringing up the rear with Leila. "Captain Stevenson, these are my companions," Charlie said. "Aaron Pittman, Priscilla Taylor and her daughters Gabi and Becca. This is Connor Bennett."

"Connor Bennett?" Stevenson repeated.

"Yeah. So?" Connor said. "There a problem with that?"

"No. I was given orders to assist you too, if you ever needed it. Didn't expect to find you with Lt. Matheson," Stevenson answered.

"Orders by whom? And _Lieutenant?"_ Connor said with astonishment.

"General Monroe, of course. As well as General Matheson," Stevenson said.

"Since when is she an officer in the militia?" Connor asked.

"It's not in my purview to question a direct command by my superiors," Stevenson said. "So I never demanded details."

Connor turned to Charlie and gave her a questioning look, clearly wanting answers.

"Austin. They did it in Austin," Charlie told him.

Connor laughed and its bitterness was sharp to Charlie's ears. "You must have given him a hell of a lay for my father to deputize you."

"Father?" Leila asked as Aaron spoke up, "Don't talk to her that way."

Charlie felt embarrassment pool hot and red on her face. She thought about shooting Connor and dragging his carcass back to Bass. But she'd already put this much effort in getting Connor this far that it seemed foolish to make it a wasted effort. No, she'd deliver Junior to Bass and then tell him to keep his offspring away from her. Part of her wondered if Bass would even want to see her after the way she'd left things. Maybe she was foolish thinking he'd wait for her. Not that she could blame him if he had moved on—she'd left with no promise she'd return. The idea hurt like she was burning from the inside out but this was the bed she'd made for herself. But if Bass threw an arm around Connor like he was some prodigal son returning as the conquering hero and the two of them walked away from her, Charlie thought she'd shoot both of them and consider herself well rid of all Monroes.

"Are you two related?" Leila asked.

"No," Charlie answered.

"Then who is…Are you saying…?"

"General Monroe is your father," Bones stated.

"Yes," Connor admitted.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Leila asked.

"Because the last I knew he was no longer a general," Connor said and gave Charlie a dirty look for not telling him that his father was trying to get his empire back—finally!

"I don't care about that. Why didn't you tell me who you really are?" Leila demanded.

"It's dangerous information to let out. _You _should know that. Look at how we met," Connor pointed out. "Same reason that Charlie kept her identity mum."

"Look, I'm sorry for any deception but my last encounter with a war clan wasn't the best," Charlie explained. "But I'd like to get going. If Miles and Bass came through here not that long ago there is a chance we can catch up to them. Which means my grandfather can look at that leg, Connor."

And every illusion Connor held of meeting up with his father and leading the militia with him dissolved. No army would follow a man crippled and unable to fight for himself. "Then let's get going," Connor agreed. Maybe the old man could fix his leg and he could still lead the army.

"I'm going with you too," Leila declared.

"I don't think so," Bones refuted. "I got them to the crossing. That was the deal."

"No, Dad. I told you I was going with Connor. You assumed I'd settle for this far," Leila said.

"Leila."

"I love him," she said resolutely. "And he loves me. Right?" She looked to Connor for confirmation.

Connor felt so confused. He was on the cusp of possibly getting the empire his father had promised him a year ago. But he'd truly begun to care for Leila. When he'd believed that gaining the Republic back was a pipe dream, he'd begun to imagine a life with Leila. But now the throne was within reach once again. "Yes. But Leila I don't want to be responsible for tearing apart your family."

"You won't be. It doesn't have to happen," Leila said.

"I can't stay here. Doctor Porter needs to look at my leg," Connor reminded her.

"I don't mean you stay but that we go. All of us," Leila said and turned to look at her father.

"You can't be serious," Bones said incredulously.

"Why not? You want to fight these Patriots then why not work together with an army?" Leila reasoned.

"War clans don't do that," Bones reminded her.

"Oh but they can work with the Patriots?" Leila said reminding him of the Ramseys.

"That's not entirely true. When I was with the Rebels and Georgia, Georgia signed a treaty with some of the clans to fight against the Monroe Republic," Charlie spoke up.

"You were the Rebels and Georgia?" Bones asked. The more she spoke the more he found himself curious as to what her real story was.

"Mine is a complicated story," Charlie deadpanned.

"Obviously," Bones said dryly.

"See? It can be done. You've managed to keep our clan intact through fighting with other clans and the Patriots. There isn't anything left for us in the Plains anymore. Not while the Patriots are still around. You trust Charlie and I trust Connor. Let's go with them and beat these guys sooner rather than later. Either way I'm going. Whether it's with or without you is up to you."

"Paloma Skinner your daughter is being insufferable. You try reasoning with her." Bones turned around to address his wife who was standing a few feet away.

"Don't look at me. She inherited my beauty and my smarts. Everything else she got from you," Paloma said. She knew from experience not to get in between a battle of wills between her husband and daughter. She'd let them battle it out until they came to their senses; if it took too long she'd just knock both their heads together. It was a system that worked.

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way," Bones said. "Why couldn't God just have given me the even-tempered son I always wanted?"

"Daddy," Leila said with mock reproach. It was clearly something she'd heard plenty of times before. The big smile on her face clearly meant it was a good sign.

"But no. God felt the need to give me a stubborn, mercurial girl," Bones griped. "So for better or worse, we're stuck with each other kiddo. We'll all go. But if it all goes south it's you and your mother's fault."

"Of course, Daddy," Leila said with fake solemnity.

"Might as well add us to your roster, _Lieutenant _Matheson," Bones said.

Captain Stevenson looked floored by the turn of events. "You heard him, Captain. They are all with me. Save time and just write down the Skinner clan. Let's roll," Charlie instructed.

* * *

Charlie pushed it and finally Bones and company were allowed to join them crossing the McKinley Bridge. They marched hard and stopped little. Charlie and Bones were upfront tracking the group's movements. They pushed the horses and each other traveling at twice the normal rate of travel. They slowed their march when they spied huge, billowing clouds of smoke. Closer inspection by Charlie told them it was a funeral pyre. There were mounds of fresh graves nearby too. The area had all the markings of a recent big battle.

Charlie's intuition told her that she was so close to Bass and Miles. Reason dictated that they not get any closer. She discussed it with Bones and he agreed to make camp there. Charlie would pursue her uncle and Bass on her own, unencumbered by everyone else allowing her to move much swifter. She would approach the encampment and let Miles and Bass know there were friendlies nearby and not an enemy war clan.

Connor suggested he join her but she refused, baldly telling him he'd slow her down and there was no way of knowing how Bass would react to seeing his son again without warning.

Charlie informed Aaron and Priscilla to keep an eye out for themselves. They were close to a Patriot's headquarters. She knew she wouldn't be back before tomorrow, depending on how far they had moved south beyond this point. Bones had implemented a twenty-four hour watch but she wanted them to be cautious. Also, if Bones said they needed to move they weren't to worry about her. She'd find them.

She asked Bones to take care of her friends while she was gone. Her request also detailed taking Aaron to meet up with Miles and Bass because they'd listen to him in case she never made it back, which meant she never reached her destination.

* * *

There were guards patrolling the camp. Charlie thought about sneaking through them just for the fun of it but decided against it. Instead she approached the front guards—two men she recognized from Austin—and declared herself, "Lt. Charlotte Matheson requesting permission to enter the camp." They remembered her and let her in.

She asked where she could find Miles and Bass. Charlie was amazed by the sheer size of the camp. It was bigger than the one she'd left behind in Austin. The directions led her to Miles' tent first. Understandably, their tents weren't close, especially if Miles was still sharing real estate with Rachel. Charlie didn't know if Miles had been able to forgive Rachel and Bass for that night in Philly. Clearly he and Bass were still working together though, so it seemed promising. Not to mention it'd be awfully hypocritical of Miles to hold a grudge.

Her question was answered immediately when she reached her uncle's tent. There were clear signs that a couple was sharing this space—most telling of all was the small, framed photo of her brother sitting on a desk that Rachel always kept with her.

Charlie wanted to find Bass and hopefully clear the air there. But Charlie needed to set things straight first with her uncle and mother and sat down and waited. She was sitting on the chair by the desk—Danny's young face staring back at her—when her mother eventually entered the tent. Rachel was surprised to see her daughter back and inside her tent. "Charlie!" she gasped.

"Mom," Charlie said. Neither moved to touch the other.

"When did—when did you get back?" Rachel inquired.

"A little while ago."

"I didn't know. I was in the infirmary helping your grandfather," Rachel explained. "How did it go? Are Aaron and Priscilla with you?"

"Yes. They came back with me. We found Priscilla's children, Rebecca and Gabi," Charlie answered. Charlie told her mother about how Greg Taylor and the rest of Ardmore had died and how the children had been spared the lethal disease.

"Of course. They don't want to kill the children. They are easily brainwashed and turned into Patriots. They will follow the Patriots because they will take care of them and that will breed the loyalty the Patriots need for continued power," Rachel said.

"That's what my thought was. Aaron found a squadron of Rangers. They collected the orphans and put them in foster care," Charlie explained. Charlie let herself wonder about Henry and hoped he was okay. She hadn't told her mother about Henry. That piece of her heart was too raw still to expose it to anyone else.

"These people really are so evil," Rachel murmured.

"I agree. I don't think I've seen anything as evil as them," Charlie said.

Rachel gave her a shrewd look and Charlie sighed. "Including him. Did you ever see Monroe do all these horrible things that we've seen and heard the Patriots doing?"

"He killed my son," Rachel accused again. "That's the worst thing I've ever seen."

Charlie sighed again, and prepared to level with her mother. It was a conversation a long time coming and she had been long resistant to do it. Charlie remembered a moment with Henry when he'd tearfully asked for his mother even though he'd clearly been neglected. All things considered, even a crappy mother had to be better than the times she'd been without one and that had kept Charlie's tongue in check. Her anger and her resentment in check. When she knew she hadn't been able to control it, Charlie had left Willoughby. It had felt wiser just to leave before her resolve cracked.

"Danny wasn't yours," Charlie said and stared her mother directly in the eyes. Rachel flinched.

"Danny was my son," Rachel refuted.

"No. He wasn't. He stopped being yours when I was ten and you left us. You left and put me in charge of him. I watched over him every hour of every day until the moment Neville took him," Charlie said. "Then I walked a thousand miles to find him. I raised him and I took care of him. I made sure he was fed and that he had clothes and shoes."

"Ben—"

"Dad helped. Yes. But I always noticed everything first. You told me to never let go of his hand. You told me I had to take care of him," Charlie reminded her. "And I did it. You gave Danny up when he was nine years old. _You gave him to me._" Charlie finally released the words that had been boiling inside of her since her mother had returned from the dead, convinced that she could just reclaim her lost children without consequence and then had wept and raged over Danny's death.

"I was Danny's mother," Rachel said fiercely. She looked so mad that Charlie thought her mother might strike her again.

"No. You gave birth to him," Charlie argued. "And you like to rail at Bass because Danny's dead but you gave him up long before that _helicopter pilot_ shot Danny down. You know who should have been weeping over Danny's body? _Me! _Danny wasn't yours to lose; _he was mine_. I lost him that day. Not you. Not you." Charlie's voice had risen as she let the words spew forth.

Rachel just stood there gasping like every word Charlie uttered ripped another breath from her body. Miles came storming into the tent, "What in the hell is going on in here?" he demanded. He stopped short when he saw Charlie. "Charlie? When did you get back kid?" Without a thought, he approached and gave her a delighted but surprised hug.

"Just a little while ago," Charlie answered. "I was going to come see you."

"I was his _prisoner_. He kept me from you for years," Rachel uttered.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yes. He shouldn't have kept you prisoner but it's not like he kidnapped you and stole you away to Philly was it?" Charlie argued. "You left us on the side of the goddamn road and the last thing you ever said to me was 'Take care of your brother.' Did you ever think of me, really? And it wasn't even Bass who took you was it?"

Rachel's eyes flicked quickly to Miles and back to Charlie. It was almost so fast Charlie would have missed it had she not been looking for it. She even saw Miles' body tense. "Just as I thought. It was Miles you left us for."

"Charlie—"

"Shut up Miles," Charlie interrupted.

"I was trying to protect you," Rachel argued.

"From what?!" Charlie demanded. "If you were that terrified of being found by the militia then why didn't we leave the fucking Republic?!" Both Rachel and Miles flinched under the ferocity of her words and her anger. "No. We kept flittering around but always within the boundaries of the Monroe Republic. Why? _Why?!_ You know it. Say it. You didn't want to leave Miles behind. Part of you wanted to be found by Miles."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Rachel denied.

Charlie gritted her teeth. "Do. Not. Act. Like. I'm. A. Stupid. Child."

"I'm not," Rachel hurried to say.

"And don't lie to me either," Charlie said. "Do you really think that I'm so stupid to believe that what is going on between the two of you has only been since after we found you in Philadelphia?"

When neither of them spoke, Charlie knew she had the definitive answer to a question that had been rolling around in her brain for a while.

Miles puffed out a breath. "How did you…?" His words trailed off.

"How did I figure it out? Honestly, it was a couple of things that people have let slip. Like you two, Grandpa, Bass," Charlie said. "I think Bass suspects I'm your daughter, actually. He'd never say it because he's afraid it'll hurt me. But I've seen it on his face."

Rachel inhaled deeply as if the words leveled a blow to her sternum. Miles looked utterly dumbfounded. He even looked to Rachel. Charlie glanced down unable to look at them any longer. She hated to spring this on him in surprise. It was so like something Rachel would do for spite. It was cruel. She had intended to speak with Rachel about it privately first and then tell her mother she either came clean first or Charlie would. Miles' arrival had ruined that. But Charlie could not hold back now. It all had to be laid bare now.

"But it's not me, is it?" Charlie whispered. She raised her head back up and pierced her mother with her icy blue-gray eyes. Rachel, the screwdriver wielding psychopath, looked terrified of her daughter. "It was Danny. Danny was Miles' kid not me."

"Rachel?" Miles asked. The word came out on a choked sound.

Rachel's head shook as if to deny or ward off the words. She trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. "You never told him did you?" Charlie realized. She hadn't been sure if Miles had known or not. She suspected he hadn't, because he'd been so reluctant to follow her to get Danny after he'd been kidnapped.

"Is she right?" Miles demanded. "Was Danny my son?" Rachel gave a slight nod of her head. "How the hell could you not tell me?!"

"Oh, like you not telling Bass about his kid?" Charlie interjected. Miles turned on her and said, "That was different. Bass was off the rails by the then. He'd have been no good for the boy."

"Yes because Nunez turned out to be such a wonderful influence on Connor," Charlie said derisively. Then she leveled Miles' argument with a few choice words: "Did you ever think that maybe the boy could have been a good influence on his father?"

"Look Connor isn't the issue right now. Danny is. How could you never tell me, Rachel?"

"You told me you didn't love me!" Rachel said. "You wanted me to build a life with Ben and I did that. I didn't…"

"So you punished me for trying to do the right thing by my brother by denying me my kid?" Miles asked. He ran his hands through his hair. Charlie noticed he needed a haircut, it was too long and it aged him. "Besides I told you that _before_ you'd married Ben and before Charlie was even born."

"So you continued to have an affair after you were married to my dad?" Charlie asked her mother.

"No. We didn't," Miles interjected. "There was one time. Only one time after she married Ben. You were just a baby. We were at a reunion in Chicago. It was a momentary lapse. I didn't go back to Chicago for a couple of years after that."

Charlie flashed back to her memory of her uncle sitting in the front seat singing along to the rock music on the radio. She'd liked the sound of his voice, she recalled. Then suddenly it was as if the memory was a room she'd been looking at through a cracked door when the door blew open before her eyes. She had been sitting in a booster seat in the back because she was only four; Miles sat in the driver's seat while in the passenger's seat sat Sebastian Monroe. They were singing along to the music and playing around with her and telling her she shouldn't grow up to like the stupid, current music that radio stations played. She needed to enjoy the classics, but she hadn't understood a word of what they'd said. All she knew was she was having the best day of her whole life. It was just her. Her uncle and his best friend had come to Chicago for a few days and they'd picked her up to spend the day having fun. It had felt delicious because for a second she got to be a kid who didn't have to look after or hold herself back for her sickly younger brother. She didn't have to live under the disappointment she always seemed to bring out, in her mother especially, for something she couldn't remember having done. Miles and Bass had taken her to the zoo, bought her popcorn and an ice cream cone and a stuffed Panda bear.

Charlie felt her face flush at the memory of the secret name she'd given the stuffed bear. She'd named him Bastian because she'd been drawn to her uncle's best friend. He'd had a sadness about him, even as he knelt down to her level to talk to her and show her the animals. He never talked to her like she was a stupid little girl in that annoyingly high pitched voice adults took around kids. But she'd been obsessed with trying to get him to smile because even when he wasn't acting like it, she knew he was sad. So sad. And she'd done it. Charlie couldn't remember what it is that she had done but she'd gotten Sebastian Monroe to smile. Four-year-old Charlotte Matheson had never felt so victorious in her whole life.

Charlie almost laughed out loud as the memory exploded in her mind. Even then—_even then—_she had been drawn to Bass. And he seemed to have noticed there was a sadness in her too. He'd been kind and attentive to her. Of course, she hadn't known about his little sisters and that he had experience dealing with little girls. She also hadn't known that his entire family had died the year before and that Bass had found few things to smile about since then. Charlie hadn't known it then, but she knew it now.

Charlie shook herself out of her reverie. Rachel and Miles were still arguing over Danny. "Did my dad know?" Charlie cut into their disagreement.

"No. I never told anyone," Rachel snapped. "How did you know?"

"He was the favorite. _Your favorite_. Nothing I did ever felt good enough. No matter how hard I tried. I didn't understand it because I didn't know what I'd done to deserve," Charlie said. "But I've been thinking about it for a while and I realized what it was. You weren't disappointed in me because of something I did but because of what I _wasn't_. I wasn't Miles' kid. I was Ben's daughter. You wanted Miles. You wanted him all along," Charlie told her mother. "And then somehow you got what you wanted. You got to have Miles' son. Unfortunately—and this is the other thing I did wrong—Danny was sick and I wasn't. The child you always wanted to have almost died and you _fucking destroyed the entire world to keep him alive_!" Charlie accused. The force of her words sent her mother back a step, but Charlie did not stop there.

"I told Bass this once: In Philadelphia you weren't upset that Strausser asked you to choose. You were upset because you'd chosen and couldn't bear to live with the choice. You picked Danny," Charlie said. Her mother's paling face was streaking with tears. Charlie found herself disgusted by the tears that her mother seemed to so easily let flow. Did she even feel them at this point?

"But I picked Danny too. So I don't hate you for that," Charlie assured her mother. "Danny was my favorite too. He was my brother, my son, my best friend. He was my entire damn world. And I picked him. If Strausser had asked me I'd have picked him over you. You made me promise to take care of Danny and I kept my word. I always had and I would have done it that night too. So I don't hate you for having made a decision you were too scared to follow through with."

"Charlie—" Miles interjected, alarmed with the turn the conversation had taken. His own fury at Rachel's deception forgotten as he saw truly for the first time all the pain and darkness that Charlie had grown up with and under and lived with every day. It surprised him to learn that Danny was his child; if he'd had to guess it would have been Charlie, because she was so infuriatingly like him. He loved her like a daughter. And that broke Miles' heart to discover that he loved Charlie more than he'd ever loved his own son.

"But what I'm struggling with, what I'm working so hard at forgiving you for are the things you said to me before I left with Aaron and Priscilla," Charlie carried on as if Miles hadn't spoken at all. "Because when you threw it in my face that you had slept with Bass, you didn't say it to be honest. You said it to be cruel. You wanted to _hurt me_ when you told me about that night. You thought I was forgetting Danny for Bass. But I wasn't; I'm not. I carry my dead with me—and I have more than you—every single day. And I haven't absolved Bass for Danny or Ben; not entirely, not absolutely. I choose to forgive him every day because I'm still alive and I'm choosing my living over my dead. But I never let them go. I'll never let them go."

"Charlie, I just…I wanted you to know who it was you were with," Rachel tried to say.

"No, that doesn't fly. That just implies that you think I'm too stupid to realize all the bad things that Bass has done. I know what he's done. Bass knows what he's done. You think he can't change, but he has. You'll never be able to hate him more than he already hates himself," Charlie informed her.

"But last time I checked, ending the damn world was a pretty big freaking deal. _Billions_ of people died because of what you and Dad did and what you continued to do every day for fifteen years by not turning the power back on for everyone," Charlie threw the gauntlet at her mother's feet. "You kept the power off for Danny. I wonder would you have turned it on for me if I'd needed it to live." Rachel paled further at Charlie's implication. Charlie didn't know how to interpret her silence. "Suddenly after Danny died the power could come back on but only to destroy Monroe, who never actually gave the kill order or got Dad killed. That was all on Neville."

"Charlie, why are you saying these things to me? You've never spoken to me like this before," Rachel spoke up. But Charlie chose to ignore her mother's words and carried on with her thoughts.

"You hate Monroe for Danny, Dad and for keeping you prisoner. But you gave up both Danny and Ben; and Monroe never took you prisoner. That was Miles. And it's easy to lay everything at Bass' feet because then it gives you a clearer conscience to be with a man who has done as many vile things as Monroe," Charlie said and glanced at her uncle before turning back to her mother. "And so you don't have to think about how your actions helped created the monster of Monroe."

Charlie felt spent, completely worn down in her soul. She wanted to get out of this tent and find Bass. Now. Immediately. "I forgive Bass every day. I forgive Miles too. And I forgive you too Mom for loving Danny more, for loving Miles most, and for not being the kind of mother I deserved. And I will work to forgive you for choosing to hurt me," Charlie told her. "But you have got to leave my relationship with Bass alone. It's not your decision and it's not up for discussion. Did either of you even think at all that it might be weird for my mother and my uncle to hook up? No. And I never once judged you for it. I even encouraged Miles to follow his heart where you're concerned. If I can be mature enough to do that, considering everything else we've just talked about, than I want the same courtesy in return. You will not threaten him, you will not insult him, you will not be cruel to him. Or I will choose to not forgive you anymore. Both of you. Respect me enough to know that I'm smart enough to make my own choices and that I have the strength to stand by them and their repercussions. Leave me and Bass alone unless you both want to lose me."

Charlie left them in the tent, both giving her stunned looks but she didn't care. Five steps away from the tent she heard Miles voice boom, "How could you lie to me about my son? _How_?"

She felt bad for her uncle, springing the news on him like that. It had to hurt: gaining and losing a son in the same breath, while also learning that the woman he had loved nearly his entire life had lied to and betrayed him. But seeing as they both had made a fool out of her dad, she wasn't too full of sympathy. Ben hadn't known. Or maybe he had suspected but had kept his mouth shut because he had loved Danny. It felt good that she came from someone who could just easily love another being like that without anything in return. Miles and Rachel both loved each other that much, but it was as a selfish love. Especially in regards to Rachel. She loved that way so she could be loved the same way in return. It was about the receiving, not the giving.

Sighing, she let go of the darkness of the tent and once again went to hunt down Sebastian Monroe.

* * *

**A/N: **Well there is Charlie's second big verbal takedown of the story (Connor in chapter 6 being the first). Sorry this chapter was so heavy on the dialogue. But there were so many things that Charlie has been thinking of that finally needed to be addressed, out loud and directed at her mother. I have had this scene with Rachel written for months and have been dying to share it. Part of the reason why Charlie left was because she was so tired of her mother (as well as the feeling of betrayal by Bass' keeping "the thing" secret—_not the fact that the act happened_). But Charlie needed to stop avoiding her mother and just lay things down. I think that Charlie has a lot of bitterness and resentment towards Rachel (understandably) and I never saw them having a traditional mother/daughter relationship on the show, ever. Even in season 25. I also never saw Rachel as the innocent bystander victim that the show often wanted us to swallow. I think she is culpable for as many bad things as Miles and Bass and I refuse to not have her held accountable—especially by Charlie, who held Miles and Bass accountable on the show.

Also the reveal about Danny's paternity is a big departure from what nearly all the other Revo FF writers tend to do. In fact, I don't know as I've ever come across another story where Miles was Danny's father instead of Charlie's. However, I really love their bond as uncle/niece and I think that it's very special as is. I like the fact that they don't have to be father/daughter for them to love each other so much. Also, Danny clearly was Rachel's favorite. I think it was plausible that it was in part b/c he was the son of the man she always wanted but couldn't have. I know that it was kind of alluded to that Charlie was really Miles' by Bass but in fact the groundwork for this reveal was laid out in Bass' inner thoughts in chapter 8 as he recalled that visit to Chicago. So now you know how far in advance I've been plotting everything in this story. I plant little seeds everywhere.

Next up is Charloe, Charloe, Charloe. I promise. But I would greatly appreciate it if in the mean time you read this and sent me your thoughts! Please and thank you!


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